S 


THE  GRINDING 


BY 
CLARA  GOODYEAR  BOISE  BUSH 


NEW  YORK 
HENRY  HOLT  AND  COMPANY 

1921 


COPYRIGHT,  1921 

BY 
HENRY  HOLT  AND  COMPANY 


TO 

THE  MEMORY  OF  AN  UNBROKEN 
FAMILY  CIRCLE,  THIS  SIMPLE 
TALE  IS  LOVINGLY  INSCRIBED 


2134465 


/T*HE  city  was  throbbing  with  excitement.  In 
•*•  every  street  where  hurrying  throngs  of  men, 
women,  and  children  were  converging  toward  a  com- 
mon center,  the  murmur  of  voices  rolled  like  a  rising 
tide.  From  the  "  river  side  "  and  the  "  woods'  side  " 
(as  the  directions  in  New  Orleans  are  denominated) 
streams  of  humanity  came  pouring  in,  illumined  by  the 
glow,  as  of  a  conflagration,  in  the  low-hanging  clouds. 
Presently,  a  rocket  went  hissing  upward  from  the  cot- 
ton presses  on  the  river  bank  and  the  crowd,  knowing 
this  to  be  the  signal  for  the  procession  to  start,  surged 
forward  in  the  universal  desire  to  get  the  best  posi- 
tion. In  front  of  the  club  house  at  the  corner  of  St. 
Charles  Avenue  and  Clio  Street,  a  solid  mass  of  human 
beings  filled  every  inch  of  available  space,  and  every 
eye  was  fixed  on  the  balcony  where  Rex  and  his  court 
were  to  appear.  A  street  car  jangled  cautiously  along, 
and  the  crowd,  with  laughter,  ejaculations,  and  pro- 
tests, trampled  upon  itself  in  the  effort  to  make  room. 
"  Now  ain't  that  awful !  "  a  woman's  indignant  voice 
exclaimed.  "They'd  ought  to  quit  running,  soon's  the 

procession  starts." 

1 


2  THE  GRINDING 

"  This  sure  has  been  one  grand  Mardi  Gras!  "  some- 
one said  enthusiastically.  "  I  hope  it  won't  go  and 
spoil  everything  by  raining  now." 

"  It  nevaire  rain  on  Mardi  Gras,"  a  strongly-marked 
Creole  voice  asserted.  Everybody  talked  with  every- 
body in  this  most  democratic  of  all  crowds. 

"Wasn't  the  Rex  procession  elegant  to-day!  "  a 
young  girl  asserted  rather  than  asked.  "  Who's  Rex 
this  year,  anyhow?  I've  heard  two  or  three  names." 

"  I  reckon  it's  Fergus  Maine,"  her  companion  haz- 
arded. 

"  Now  ain't  that  a  shame?  "  demanded  the  woman 
who  had  previously  criticized  the  car  system.  "  They 
always  gives  everything  to  rich  people." 

"  They  have  to,"  said  a  man's  voice.  "  Poor  people 
can't  afford  to  be  Rex  or  queen  of  the  Carnival." 
Then,  to  the  company  at  large,  "  We'd  look  sweet, 
wouldn't  we,  trying  to  be  Rex?  " 

There  was  good-natured  laughter  interrupted  by  a 
deep  voice  that  growled,  "  It's  not  Fergus  Maine;  it's 
Marc  Sutton." 

"  And  if  it  should  rain  they  couldn't  come  out," 
said  the  girl  who  had  asked  about  Rex. 

"  Don't  you  believe  it,"  her  escort  assured  her. 
"  They'll  come  if  it's  raining  cats  and  dogs."  Then, 
in  a  lower  tone,  "  This  is  the  people's  part  of  the 
Carnival  —  those  who  can't  get  invitations  to  the 
balls." 

"  I'd  give  anything  on  earth,"  the  girl  observed,  "  if 
I  could  go  to  the  ball." 


THE  GRINDING  3 

"  Rex's?  "  the  man  asked  in  a  disparaging  tone. 
"  It  isn't  any  honor  to  go  there.  Anyone  can  get  an 
invitation." 

"Well,  I  didn't,"  said  the  girl;  "and  I  was  crazy 
for  one." 

"  Did  you  see  Miss  Maine  and  her  Maids  of  Honor 
on  the  Boston  Club  gallery  to-day?  "  a  woman  asked, 
squeezing  her  shoulders  around  in  order  to  speak  to 
someone  behind  her. 

"  They  say  she's  the  prettiest  girl  in  New  Orleans," 
another  voice  asserted. 

"  The  richest,  yes,"  mocked  the  discontented  woman. 
"  Poor  girls  ain't  chosen." 

A  distant  strain  of  music  was  heard,  and  there  was 
a  universal  cry  of:  "  Here  it  comes!  " 

A  flurry  of  rain  pattered  on  the  crowd  and  it  assumed 
the  appearance  of  a  field  of  mushrooms.  "  Shut  your 
umbrellas,"  called  innumerable  voices;  "  we  can't  see 
a  thing." 

The  shower  was  quickly  past  and  then  there  was  a 
writhing  and  struggling  to  close  umbrellas  where  there 
was  insufficient  elbow  room.  The  glow  in  the  clouds 
was  growing  brighter,  the  music  louder,  and  from 
around  Lee  Circle  there  appeared  a  broad  line  of 
knights  on  horse  back;  the  forerunners  of  Comus's 
procession.  Forward  they  swept  with  their  long  spears 
and  plumed  helmets  and  snowy  mantles  embroidered 
with  a  red  cross,  advancing  over  a  pavement  glistening 
from  the  recent  shower  and  reflecting  the  flare  of  the 
torches  until  it  became  a  path  of  red  gold. 


4  THE  GRINDING 

"Crusaders!  "  ejaculated  a  boyish  voice. 

And  now  the  floats  appeared,  towering  above  the 
heads  of  the  crowd,  led  by  the  car  of  Richard  Coeur 
de  Lion  in  jeweled  crown  and  mantle.  Then  came  a 
long  line,  as  fantastic  as  if  they  had  moved  directly 
out  from  the  Arabian  Nights:  a  phantasmagoria  of 
gnomes,  dwarfs,  giants,  knights,  ladies,  priests,  and 
monarchs;  now  glittering  in  the  electric  light,  now 
moving  through  shadow,  gleaming  with  every  color  of 
the  rainbow. 

A  deep,  thrilling  "  Oh!  "  went  up  from  the  heart  of 
the  crowd. 

Rex  and  his  court  now  appeared  on  the  balcony  and 
received  the  tribute  of  a  long  moment  of  silence  fol- 
lowed by  a  storm  of  applause.  In  the  center  of  the 
group  were  Rex  and  his  queen,  attended  on  the  right 
and  left  by  excited  little  pages  in  plumes  and  spangles. 
Beyond  the  pages  were  the  Maids  of  Honor,  each  with 
her  "  Duke "  standing  behind  her.  Rex,  towering 
above  all  the  rest,  in  a  portentous  blond  wig  and 
beard,  betrayed  nervousness  by  the  occasional  twitch- 
ing of  his  shoulder  and  neck,  as  if  his  collar  were  too 
tight.  The  queen,  on  the  other  hand,  a  slender,  dark- 
eyed  girl,  stood  in  an  attitude  of  statuesque  calm,  her 
sweeping  white  mantle  encrusted  with  jewels,  her 
proud  young  head  crowned  with  a  circlet  on  which 
a  pair  of  wings  were  a  quivering  suggestion  of  light, 
above  her  dark  hair.  She  held  her  scepter  with  a 
negligent  grace  as  if  she  had  borne  one  all  her  life; 
her  gaze  resting  from  the  immeasurable  height  of  her 


THE  GRINDING  5 

beauty,  her  wealth,  her  aristocratic  birth,  upon  the 
populace  in  the  street.  The  Maids  of  Honor  whis- 
pered to  each  other  and  to  their  Dukes,  but  the  queen 
was  as  impassive  and  indifferent  as  if  her  royalty  were 
real  and  not  the  pageant  of  a  single  night.  At  the 
extreme  left  of  the  line  stood  May  Vincent,  a  gentle 
looking  girl,  and  behind  her  was  George  Burbank, 
nondescript  but  kindly. 

"  Wasn't  it  lovely  of  her  to  choose  me?  "  May  said 
over  her  shoulder.  "  I  never  was  so  surprised  in  my 
life." 

"  I  was  much  pleased  and  flattered  at  her  asking 
me,"  the  young  man  confessed. 

The  procession  went  by,  each  float  stopping  to  pay 
homage  to  the  young  queen.  When  all  had  passed, 
the  royal  party  entered  the  ball  room  and,  in  con- 
formity with  time-honored  custom,  seated  itself  on  an 
elevated  platform  while  their  motley  guests  filed  by  as 
if  before  a  row  of  statues;  commenting  audibly  on  the 
different  members  of  the  group  as  they  passed. 

"  Mon  Dieu!  "  ejaculated  a  young  girl,  pausing  be- 
fore the  queen,  "  but  she's  lovely!  I  always  heard  she 
was  beautiful,  but  I  never  knew  she  was  that  pretty," 
and  she  gazed  with  unconcealed  admiration  at  the 
young  creature  (a  girl  of  her  own  age),  seated  before 
her  like  a  jeweled  idol  in  a  shrine. 

"  Move  on,  can't  you?  "  exclaimed  a  woman  behind 
her.  "  You  ain't  the  only  one  wants  to  see." 

"Ain't  Rex  homely!  "  the  irritable  woman  cried 
after  pushing  forward  into  the  place  of  the  young  girl 


6  THE  GRINDING 

who  had  shamefacedly  made  room;  "  Gracious!  I 
wouldn't  have  chose  him." 

"  He  ain't  so  awful  homely,"  her  escort  declared, 
moving  on  to  examine  the  remainder  of  the  group 
while  his  companion  expressed  her  opinions  as  freely 
as  if  those  on  the  platform  were  as  far  removed  physic- 
ally as  they  were  socially. 

In  one  corner  of  the  ball  room  stood  a  group  of 
people  wrapped  in  cloaks  and  overcoats.  "  It's  worth 
glancing  at  as  a  curiosity,"  said  a  gray-haired  gentle- 
man who  seemed  to  be  acting  the  part  of  guide.  "  This 
is  the  most  cosmopolitan  of  all  the  balls.  Here  you 
may  meet  your  valet  and  housemaid." 

"  What  a  beautiful  girl  the  queen  is!  "  said  a  mem- 
ber of  the  group.  "  I  never  saw  a  more  perfect  face." 

"  Not  amiable!  "  observed  one  of  the  ladies. 

"  A  little  spoiled  by  wealth,"'  the  gray-haired  man 
admitted.  "  We  must  go  soon  to  get  seats  at  the 
French  Opera  House.  Rex's  visit  to  Comus  is  the 
crowning  pageant  of  the  Carnival.  It's  worth  seeing. 
But  wait;  they're  coming  down  from  the  platform," 
and,  sure  enough,  the  court  now  descended  into  the 
ball  room  and  moved,  a  glittering  procession,  around 
and  around  among  its  admiring  guests. 

At  midnight,  when  all  these  prescribed  ceremonies 
were  finished,  they  left  the  platform  and  went  to  their 
waiting  carriages,  while  the  "  subjects  "  danced  away 
the  hours  until  morning. 

"  I'll  bet  anything  she's  cross  because  she  wasn't 


THE  GRINDING  7 

queen  of  Comus,"  Belle  Snively,  another  of  the  Maids, 
whispered  to  May  Vincent. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  think  she's  cross,"  May  whispered  in 
reply.  "  I  suppose  she's  disappointed  because  Ronald 
North  couldn't  be  here." 

Belle  laughed  and  her  voice  conveyed  an  unspoken 
innuendo. 

They  drove  rapidly  to  the  old  French  Opera  House 
where  they  were  received  by  the  black-coated  com- 
mittee of  prominent  citizens,  and  escorted  into  the 
ball  room.  Here  Comus  and  his  queen,  descending 
from  the  throne  that  filled  the  upper  end  of  the  stage, 
moved  forward  to  meet  them  and  Rex,  taking  the 
hand  of  Comus's  queen  and  Comus  that  of  Rex's,  they 
returned  to  the  throne  followed  by  the  attendants  of 
both  courts.  The  two  queens  were  seated  in  the  cen- 
ter with  a  king  on  each  side  and  Maids  and  Dukes 
grouped  to  the  right  and  left.  The  sleepy  little  pages 
collapsed  in  their  plumes  and  spangles  at  the  feet  of 
their  royal  mistresses,  and  altogether  it  formed,  as  the 
gray-haired  gentleman  had  prophesied,  the  crowning 
picture  of  the  Carnival. 

After  they  were  seated  facing  the  vast  audience 
which  reached  like  a  rainbow  cloud,  tier  above  tier, 
from  floor  to  ceiling,  Comus  said  in  a  low  tone  to  his 
companion,  "  Has  it  been  hard?  You  look  tired." 

"  I'm  nearly  dead,  Fergus,"  she  replied.  "  You 
know  it's  awful  to  go  dragging  around  that  way  at 
Rex's  ball." 


8  THE  GRINDING 

"  Try  to  enjoy  it,  Catherine,"  he  remonstrated. 
"  After  all,  it's  a  great  thing  — " 

"  Not  to  be  queen  of  Rex,"  she  interrupted.  "  You 
know  I  didn't  want  to  be.  And  now  I  can  never  be 
queen  of  anything  else.  And  you  know  it  was  as  un- 
kind as  it  could  be  for  Ronald  to  go  away  and  not 
wait  a  single  day  to  see  me  queen  for  the  one  time  of 
my  life.  I'll  never  forgive  him  as  long  as  I  live." 

A  group  in  the  highest  gallery  was  watching  her 
through  their  opera  glasses.  "  Did  you  ever  see  a 
prettier  profile?  "  said  one  of  the  men.  "  Her  color 
may  be  put  on,  but  that  line  of  the  throat  and  chin 
is  a  gift  of  the  gods." 

" What  glorious  eyes !  "  another  exclaimed.  "But 
she  looks  sullen.  I  believe  all  these  Southern  girls 
are  over-indulged.  Too  much  is  done  for  them. 
They're  courted  and  flattered  from  their  cradles." 

"  They  say  Adolphus  Banks  is  in  love  with  her," 
some  one  close  by  was  saying.  The  crowd  even  in  this 
highest  gallery  was  suffocatingly  dense  and  every  re- 
mark seemed  an  announcement  for  the  company. 

"  They  say,"  another  voice  chimed  in  laughingly, 
"  she's  refused  every  unmarried  man  in  Louisiana." 

"  She  never  refused  me,"  the  first  speaker  declared. 

"  Because  you  never  had  the  chance  to  ask  her," 
the  other  retorted,  and  both  laughed. 

Against  the  wall,  behind  the  speakers,  a  young  man 
stood  listening.  Tall,  athletic,  clean-limbed,  with  pene- 
trating, dark-gray  eyes,  there  was  in  his  poise  and 
manner  a  superb  nonchalance  as  if  he  were  here  by 


THE  GRINDING  9 

accident  and  were  looking  with  what  might  possibly 
be  a  supercilious  indifference  at  a  bit  of  child's  play 
unworthy  of  the  grown-up  human  beings  taking  part 
in  it. 

But  his  mood  was  not  one  of  indifference.  He  was 
watching  the  young  queen  intently,  appraisingly,  as  if 
seeing  her  now  for  the  first  time.  Unconscious  of  the 
attention  he  attracted  as  he  stood  there,  the  light  glint- 
ing on  his  fair  hair,  he  was  deaf  to  the  conjectures  as 
to  why  Ronald  North  was  not  in  Rex's  party.  Ab- 
sorbed in  his  own  thoughts,  he  was  weighing  her  in 
the  balances  and  finding  her  wanting.  A  coquette? 
A  spoiled,  hard-hearted  beauty?  Yesterday  he  would 
have  denied  the  accusations;  to-night  he  knew  them  to 
be  true,  for  only  a  few  hours  ago  she  had  dismissed 
him  with  unforgivable  words  after  long  years  of  devo- 
tion on  his  part. 

Never,  never  should  she  know  that  he  had  had  the 
weakness  to  come  back  for  one  more  look.  And  now, 
having  seen  her  glowing  with  beauty  and  satisfied 
vanity  —  Circe  that  she  was !  —  she  should  never  lure 
him  back.  With  a  last  look,  he  left  the  gallery. 

"  She's  very  well  acquainted  with  Comus,  whoever 
he  may  be,"  observed  one  of  the  ladies  who  had  looked 
in  at  the  Rex  ball. 

"  So  I  see,"  said  the  gray-haired  gentleman.  "  He 
is  said  to  be  Fergus  Maine,  her  half-brother." 

"  He's  scolding  her,"  said  the  lady.  "  She  wants  to 
cry." 

But  Comus  was  not  scolding  her.    His  rosy,  dimpled 


10  THE  GRINDING 

mask  was  turned  toward  her  in  expressionless  pretti- 
ness,  but  his  voice  sounded  troubled.  "  Remember 
how  many  people  are  watching  you,"  it  said,  "  and  try 
to  forget  your  annoyance  about  Ronald.  You  will 
forgive  him  when  you  know  all  the  circumstances." 

"  Never!  "  she  retorted.  "  And  he'll  be  sorry  when 
he  knows  something.  I  had  a  letter  from  Adolphus 
Banks  again  to-day." 

"  I  hope  you  have  done  nothing  rash,"  said  Comus 
gravely. 

"  I've  accepted  him." 

Comus  regarded  her  in  silence,  and  presently  the 
kings  and  queens  descended  from  the  throne  and,  fol- 
lowed by  their  train  of  attendants,  made  the  tour  of 
the  ball  room,  acknowledging  the  greetings  of  the 
many  spectators  who  scanned  them  with  the  discrim- 
ination of  long  habit. 

At  last  the  ball  was  over.  In  the  gray  of  Ash 
Wednesday  morning,  the  kings  and  quee'ns,  their  roy- 
alty ended,  were  beginning  their  forty  days  of  Lent, 
and  Catherine  was  alone  with  Fergus.  As  they  walked 
up  the  broad  stairs  to  her  sitting  room,  he  noticed  that 
the  house  was  a  trifle  over-heated  and  that  the  shaded 
lights,  and  all-pervading  perfume  of  flowers  made  it 
seem  still  warmer.  The  thought  crossed  his  mind  that 
this  young  sister,  more  than  a  dozen  years  his  junior, 
might  have  been  enervated  by  her  hothouse  existence. 

As  he  paused  at  her  door,  he  referred  to  their  con- 
versation in  the  ball  room.  "  Are  you  accepting  Adol- 
phus Banks  because  Ronald  dislikes  him?  "  he  asked, 


THE  GRINDING  11 

"  Partly,"  she  admitted. 

"  Cathie,"  he  said  slowly,  "  I'm  afraid  I've  been 
unjust  to  you." 

"Unjust!  "  she  ejaculated,  "how?  " 

He  was  very  pale  as  he  looked  silently  down  at  her 
and  something  in  his  expression  so  impressed  her  that 
the  entire  scene  remained  indelibly  fixed  in  her  mind. 
He  was  a  man  of  medium  height  and  build,  with  mild, 
thoughtful  brown  eyes  under  straight,  dark  brows. 
His  face,  which  was  somewhat  long  for  its  width  was 
framed  in  dark  hair  and  close-cut,  VanDyke  beard  — 
an  unusual  thing  in  this  day  of  clean-shaven  faces,  but 
a  characteristic  which  enhanced  his  air  of  distinction. 
Altogether,  even  a  casual  observer  would  have  been 
struck  by  his  cultured  look,  betraying  as  it  did  the 
student  and  dilettante.  On  the  wall  opposite  the  door 
in  which  they  were  standing,  hung  a  round  convex  mir- 
ror in  a  quaint,  antique  frame.  This  mirror  showed, 
as  in  a  picture,  the  vast,  luxurious  room  with  its  flowers, 
its  Oriental  rugs,  its  dancing  firelight,  and  in  the  door- 
way, beside  her  brother,  her  own  slender  figure, 
crowned  and  sceptered  and  robed  as  a  queen. 

His  silence  vexed  her  and  she  repeated:  "  What  do 
you  mean  by  '  unjust '?  " 

"  I  have  over-indulged  you  —  cruelly,  I  fear." 

She  laughed  lightly.  "Cruelly?  Well,  Ronald 
makes  up  by  disappointing  me  cruelly.  But  why  are 
you  so  anxious  about  me  all  of  a  sudden?  Because 
I've  accepted  Adolphus  Banks?  " 

"  Partly;  and  partly  because  I  was  told  some  bad 


12 

news  as  I  was  leaving  the  ball.    I  must  tell  you  before 
you  hear  it  from  others." 

"  What  is  it?  "  she  asked  in  a  startled  tone. 

"  A  terrible  failure  will  be  announced  in  New  York 
tomorrow,  and — " 

"  Oh,"  she  interrupted,  looking  relieved.  "  I  was 
afraid  Ronald  had  been  hurt  or  something  serious  had 
happened." 

"  But  this  is  serious,  Catherine." 

"  Oh,  I  know,"  she  replied  indifferently,  "  money 
seriousness.  But  people  are  always  failing,  don't  you 
know?  You  can't  help  everybody,  so  let  them  fail  if 
they  want  to,"  and  she  raised  her  face  for  his  good- 
night kiss. 


II 


'T^HE  winter  rain  was  falling,  converting  the  heavy, 
•••  alluvial  soil  into  a  thick  paste  through  which 
the  muffled  footsteps  of  the  mules  plodded  with  rhyth- 
mic regularity.  The  solitary  vehicle,  broken  and  mud- 
spattered,  in  which  Fergus  and  Catherine  Maine  were 
seated,  crawled  along  through  the  blurred  landscape, 
mile  after  mile,  and  hour  after  hour. 

Finally  Fergus  spoke.  "  Are  you  cold,  Cathie?  " 
he  asked. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered  with  a  shudder;  then,  after  a 
pause,  "  It  seems  strange  that  someone  has  the  right 
to  lock  us  out  of  our  own  house." 

He  regarded  her  with  a  pained  expression.  As  un- 
fitted for  hardship  as  a  humming-bird,  she  must  now 
face  poverty  and  friendlessness.  Worn  with  weeping, 
she  was  pitifully  changed  from  the  haughty  Catherine 
whose  very  wilfulness  had  been  treated  as  if  it  were 
an  added  charm.  Both  he  and  Ronald  had  been  in 
the  habit  of  mentioning  her  as  "  a  spoiled  child,  who 
had  never  been  crossed  in  anything."  And  now  Life 
had  barred  her  way  with  its  relentless  hand.  What 
would  become  of  her,  he  wondered  with  deep  fore- 
boding. 

The  interminable  road  stretched  before  them,  foi- 

ls 


14  THE  GRINDING 

lowing  the  windings  of  the  bayou.  On  their  left, 
sepulchral  moss  hung  in  long,  gray  festoons  from  the 
somber  branches  of  the  oak  trees  and  dripped  accu- 
mulated moisture;  on  the  right,  the  bayou,  sluggish 
and  stealthy,  so  shrouded  in  mist  that  the  farther 
bank  was  scarcely  discernible  and  they  might  not  have 
noticed  the  amphitheater  of  trees  in  which  stood  a 
tall,  white  cross,  had  not  Ananias,  the  driver,  stretched 
out  his  arm  and  quavered,  "  the  Old  Burying  Ground." 

And  now  two  sails  passed  by;  the  first  a  vast  square 
of  crimson  towering  above  the  banks  of  the  bayou,  the 
other,  white  as  moonlight;  both  gliding  like  shadows 
through  the  thick  mist  toward  a  bend,  where  they 
dimly  perceived  a  faint  light  twinkling  through  the 
intervening  foliage. 

Again  Ananias  stretched  out  one  arm  and  quavered, 
"  Esperance." 

Nearer  they  came  and  nearer  until,  through  the 
ever-deepening  twilight,  they  saw  the  giant  pecan  tree 
at  the  gate,  with  branches  that  swept  the  ground;  the 
grass-grown  driveway  on  which  the  leaves  lay  thick- 
strewn;  the  sagging  steps  and  tottering  chimneys  that 
proclaimed  the  poverty  and  desolation  of  their  future 
home. 

"  Fergus,"  Catherine  asked  faintly,  "  where  are  we 
going?  " 

Strange  as  it  seems,  during  the  nightmare  of  the 
past  ten  days,  she  had  asked  no  questions,  but  like 
one  who  is  passively  swept  along  toward  the  fall,  re- 
mained quiescent  while  servants  and  strangers  came 


THE  GRINDING  IS 

and  went;  packing  furniture,  books,  pictures,  statues, 
everything  that  had  gone  toward  making  up  her  beau- 
tiful home;  and  had  sent  them  away,  some  to  auction 
rooms,  some  to  antique  shops,  some  —  no  one  knew 
whither.  It  was  like  the  sack  of  a  captured  city. 

So  stunned  had  she  been  by  the  avalanche  of  shame 
which  had  fallen  upon  them  —  by  the  torrent  of  news- 
paper accusations  against  Fergus  —  that,  for  the  mo- 
ment, material  things  seemed  not  to  matter.  The 
most  treasured  heirlooms,  the  most  common  necessaries 
of  their  daily  life  were  taken,  and  she  gave  no  heed. 
Past  and  future  alike  were  engulfed  in  the  abysmal 
present. 

No  word  of  sympathy  came  from  Ronald.  In  her 
numb  despair,  she  scarcely  remembered  the  unkindness 
with  which  she  had  dismissed  him;  but,  had  she  re- 
membered, it  would  have  been  no  excuse  for  his  neglect 
of  Fergus. 

And  now,  shut  out  from  her  world  of  warmth  and 
light  and  laughter,  alone  in  that  chilling  mist  with  her 
disgraced  and  ruined  brother,  she  listened  while  he 
explained  that  this  plantation  of  Esperance  had  been 
willed  personally  to  her  and  was  the  only  refuge  left 
them  in  the  world.  He  made  no  excuse  for  his  own 
presence,  knowing  that  she  needed  his  company  and 
protection. 

It  was  deep  twilight  as  they  ascended  the  creaking 
steps,  wet  and  weary,  and  were  met  at  the  door  by 
Marcelline,  the  wife  of  Ananias,  carrying  a  lighted 
candle  which  intensified  the  gloom  of  the  great  hall. 


16  THE  GRINDING 

Setting  the  candle  on  a  box,  she  helped  Catherine  to 
remove  her  wraps,  saying,  "  Ef  I'd  a-knewn  you  was 
that  wet,  I'd've  made  a  fire." 

"  Make  it  now,"  Catherine  commanded;  "  but  first 
show  me  to  my  room." 

Silently  Marcelline  opened  a  door  into  what,  in  the 
semi-darkness,  seemed  an  endless  space;  and  held  up 
the  candle  to  enable  her  young  mistress  to  avoid  the 
row  of  chairs  standing  in  front  of  a  great,  empty  fire- 
place. 

"  You  should  have  had  a  fire  here,  too,"  Catherine 
exclaimed  irritably. 

"  They  wa'n't  no  fire  wood,"  Marcelline  explained. 
"  But  effen  you  says  so,  I'll  hunt  round.  I  mout  find 
some  branches  fer  Nias  to  break  up." 

"  Why,  of  course,"  said  Catherine,  astonished  at 
the  stupidity  of  servants  who  would  permit  their  mis- 
tress to  come  into  so  cold  and  damp  a  house;  and 
Marcelline  withdrew  with  many  forebodings  as  to  the 
city  ways  of  the  newcomers. 

Fergus  entered,  carrying  a  lighted  lantern.  "  This 
has  been  a  fine  room  in  its  day,  Cathie,"  he  said  with 
an  attempt  at  cheerfulness.  "  Look  at  the  windows, 
and  the  height  of  this  mantel-piece.  And  that  bed  is 
handsome,"  regarding  the  massive  mahogany  bedstead 
which  stood,  half-revealed,  in  the  sombre  depths. 

"  Yassir,"  said  Ananias,  who  came  in  at  this  mo- 
ment with  an  armful  of  branches  and  bits  of  wood. 
"  That  war  Miss  Ludovine's."  He  knelt  on  the  hearth 


THE  GRINDING  17 

and  began  the  task  of  lighting  the  damp  twigs.  "  She 
die  there,  it  mout  be  fifty  year  ago." 

"  Mercy!  "  Catherine  ejaculated  faintly. 

"  An'  'fore  that,"  he  continued,  pausing  now  and 
then  to  blow  the  feeble  flame,  "  this  war  you-alls  great- 
granmaw's  room;  she  that  war  Miss  Felicie  Trosclair. 
An'  she  fell  down  daid,  right  by  that  winder,  when 
they  tole  her  young  Mars  Raoul  had  kilt  hisself." 

Catherine  was  helplessly  exploring  a  valise,  in  search 
of  dry  clothing,  and  paid  scant  attention  to  the  old 
man's  words. 

"  An'  yonder,"  he  continued,  having  rearranged  the 
kindling  and  shoved  a  bit  of  crackling  corn  husk  under 
the  driest  part,  "  in  that  yuther  room,"  nodding  to- 
ward an  open  door,  "  is  whar  they  foun'  the  ole  marster 
a-settin',  daid  in  his  cheer,  arter  him  an'  his  overseer, 
Kazim  Blaise,  had  ben  a-playin'  cards  all  night. 
Kazim  Blaise  war  gone,  an'  the  deed  to  more'n  half 
of  Esperance  war  gone  with  him.  Poof!  Poof!  " 
with  another  effort  to  encourage  the  smouldering  flame. 

Catherine,  still  groping  in  her  valise  and  dropping 
various  articles  on  the  floor,  now  gave  up  in  despair. 
"  Never  mind  about  that  fire,"  she  said.  "  It  ought 
to  have  been  built  hours  ago.  It  doesn't  do  any  good 
now.  Besides,  I  want  the  room." 

"Yas'm!  Yas'm!  "  Ananias  acquiesced,  rising 
stiffly  to  his  feet.  "  Does  you  want  some  supper?  " 

"  No,"  she  replied  impatiently,  "  I  wish  only  to  be 
alone." 


15  THE  GRINDING 

"  Yas'm,"  he  replied  humbly.  "  An'  what  time  does 
you  want  you  mornin'  coffee?  Marcelline  kin  have  it 
ready  any  time.  Five  o'clock?  She  kin  be  ready  by 
half-pas'  four  —  er  sooner,  effen  you  likes." 

"For  mercy  sakes!  "  Catherine  ejaculated.  "The 
man's  crazy,  Fergus." 

"  I  suppose  they  are  accustomed  to  early  hours  on 
the  plantation,"  Fergus  explained,  and,  turning  to  the 
crestfallen  Ananias,  he  said:  "  Seven  o'clock  will  be 
early  enough  for  me,  and  I  don't  think  Miss  Catherine 
will  care  for  hers  before  nine.  Shall  you,  Cathie?  " 

"  Nine!  "  she  repeated  wearily.  "  You  know  I 
never  get  up  as  early  as  that.  I'll  ring  for  it  when  I 
want  it." 


Ill 

IN  spite  of  her  weariness,  Catherine  could  not  sleep. 
The  old  house  was  full  of  strange  noises.  She  was 
wrapped  in  unaccustomed  darkness  and  heard  sigh- 
ings  and  whisperings  all  around  her.  A  finger  tapped 
gently  at  the  shutter  by  her  bed;  a  footfall  rustled 
stealthily  among  the  withered  leaves  on  the  gallery;  the 
stairs  that  led  down  from  the  upper  story  creaked,  one 
after  the  other.  Surely  someone  was  descending  from 
those  unexplored  upper  rooms!  Every  faculty  of  her 
mind  was  strained  to  increase  her  sense  of  hearing. 
Was  that  a  hand,  laid  cautiously  on  the  knob  of  her 
door?  There  was  no  lock!  Her  blood  turned  to  ice. 
She  held  her  breath  and  thought  of  the  stories  Ananias 
told  of  her  long-dead  ancestors.  Who  was  standing 
by  her  bedside  in  the  impenetrable  darkness,  looking 
at  her  with  eyes  that  pierced  the  blackness  of  the 
night?  She  dared  not  call  to  Fergus;  she  dared  not 
move  to  cover  her  head  with  the  bed  clothes.  The 
long  moments  crept  by  until,  at  last,  the  tension  of  her 
nerves  gave  way  from  sheer  weakness.  The  scalding 
tears  trickled  down  her  cheeks  and  soaked  her  pillow. 
With  daybreak  she  fell  asleep  and  then  came  Mar- 
celline  bringing  hot,  black  coffee,  and  the  comforting 
news  that  Miss  Victorine  (whoever  that  might  be),  had 

sent   over   some   things   for  breakfast,   thinking   the 

19 


20  THE  GRINDING 

Madam  might  not  yet  have  been  able  to  provide  her- 
self with  everything  necessary  to  begin  housekeeping  in 
the  country. 

Later,  "  Miss  Victorine  "  herself  appeared,  dressed 
in  a  stiffly-starched  Guinea  blue  calico  dress  and  white 
sunbonnet.  A  tiny,  dried-up  slip  of  a  woman  fifty-five 
or  sixty  years  of  age,  she  welcomed  "  Mees  Catrine  " 
to  Esperance  in  a  cheerful,  ringing  voice  and  offered 
assistance  in  getting  settled.  Catherine  thanked  her 
in  a  perfunctory  manner,  assured  her  she  should  not 
hesitate  to  ask  for  help  if  necessary,  and  then  expected 
her  to  leave.  But  no!  Good  manners  on  the  bayou 
demanded  that  Miss  Victorine  should  stay  at  least  two 
hours,  and  Catherine,  not  understanding  this  infliction, 
grew  restive,  listened  with  open  indifference  to  remedies 
for  the  diseases  of  cows  and  chickens  and  minute  direc- 
tions for  the  making  of  lard.  She  interrupted  a  de- 
tailed account  of  the  best  methods  for  slaughtering 
hogs,  at  new  moon,  or  even  at  the  full,  but  never  later 
in  the  month,  by  saying:  "  We'll  not  keep  any  of  those 
things.  I  shall  buy  eggs  and  milk  and  I  don't  expect 
to  use  pork  or  lard." 

Miss  Victorine  looked  wonderingly  at  her.  What 
sort  of  person  was  this  who  did  not  wish  to  keep  cows 
and  chickens  and  who  did  not  expect  to  use  pork  or 
lard?  Very  patiently  she  explained  to  Catherine  the 
difficulty  of  buying  fresh  provisions  in  the  country, 
and  the  need  of  laying  in  a  sufficient  supply.  Very 
impatiently  Catherine  listened,  bidding  her  a  careless 
good-by  when  all  this  good  advice  was  ended,  and 


THE  GRINDING  21 

turning  indifferently  away,  unconscious  that  she  had 
wounded  the  kindest  of  neighbors  and  friends. 

At  their  noon  dinner,  she  told  Fergus  of  the  inflic- 
tion. "  Who  is  she,  any  way?  "  she  asked.  "  I'm 
afraid  she's  going  to  be  very  intrusive." 

A  faint  red  crept  into  his  cheeks  and  he  spoke  hesi- 
tatingly, with  a  deprecating  look  at  his  young  sister, 
who  had  never  been  forced  to  tolerate  good  advice. 
She  leaned  forward,  her  slender,  interlaced  fingers  rest- 
ing on  the  table  edge,  apparently  as  aloof  from  her 
sordid  surroundings  as  she  had  seemed  from  the  popu- 
lace in  the  street. 

"  Do  you  suppose,"  she  asked,  "  that  all  country 
people  are  as  tiresome  as  Miss  Victorine?  " 

"  Perhaps,"  he  ventured  guardedly,  "  you  won't  find 
her  tiresome  when  you  have  interests  in  common." 

"  Interests  in  common!  "  Catherine  ejaculated. 
"  Do  you  mean  to  imply  that  I'll  ever  be  interested  in 
such  things  as  she  talked  about?  Slaughtering  hogs, 
and  making  lard,  and  doctoring  chickens?  " 

"  Perhaps,  sometime  — "  he  began. 

"  Fergus,"  she  exclaimed,  "  do  you  really  think  I'll 
ever  be  like  that?  "  She  gazed  at  him  horror-struck. 
"  Do  you  suppose  she  was  ever  like  me  and  turned  into 
that  from  living  here  on  the  bayou?  " 

"  No,"  he  replied,  "  she  could  never  have  been  like 
you.  But,  Cathie,  we  have  to  learn  new  standards. 
We  must  estimate  people  altogether  by  what  they  are, 
and—" 

"  I  always  have,"  she  interrupted,  leaning  her  elbows 


22  THE  GRINDING 

on  the  table  and  resting  her  chin  on  her  clasped  hands. 
"  I've  always  scorned  liars  and  sycophants  and  ungrate- 
ful, dishonest  people." 

"  Yes,"  he  agreed,  seeing  his  opportunity.  "  And 
we  are  really  under  obligations  to  Miss  Victorine  and 
her  son  Placide.  They  have  taken  care  of  this  place 
from  time  immemorial.  Her  husband  took  care  of  it 
until  his  death,  and  since  then  her  son  has  faithfully 
filled  his  place.  I  think  father  left  a  sum  in  per- 
petuity for  necessary  implements  and  stock,  and  they 
were  paid  by  the  usufruct  of  the  land." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Catherine  indifferently;  "  stewards. 
I  don't  see  that  there's  any  occasion  for  gratitude 
there.  They  were  paid  by  that  usufruct  —  whatever 
that  was." 

"  And  it  was  Miss  Victorine  who  sent  Marcelline 
and  Ananias  from  the  fields  to  help  us.  Otherwise, 
we  should  have  had  no  servants." 

Catherine  gazed  at  him  with  sudden  comprehension. 
"  Why,"  she  acknowledged,  "  I  never  thought  of  that. 
There  wouldn't  have  been  any  servants  here  if  she 
hadn't  sent  them?  Yes,  that  was  thoughtful  of  her." 
She  was  lost  in  wonder  at  such  possibilities.  "  What 
should  we  have  done,  Fergus? "  she  questioned. 
"  What  do  people  do  under  such  circumstances?  " 

"  I  suppose  they  do  their  own  work,"  he  replied. 

"  'Their  own  work,'  "  she  repeated  slowly.  "  How 
awful!  I  couldn't.  I  don't  know  how."  Rising,  she 
went  to  the  window  and  stood  looking  out  into  the 
neglected  garden. 


THE  GRINDING  23 

Day  after  day  passed  —  each  like  the  preceding  one 
—  and  day  after  day,  Catherine  wandered  listlessly 
back  and  forth  on  the  gallery,  or  sat  and  waited  for 
time  to  pass  in  this  land  of  abysmal  silence  and  soli- 
tude. Whenever  Fergus  came  in  from  his  study  of 
the  fields  and  swamps,  of  the  ruined  sugar  house,  the 
brackish  bayou,  the  perplexing  boundaries  between 
Esperance  and  the  neighboring  plantation  of  Gold 
Mine,  she  bemoaned  her  discomforts  and  the  unutter- 
able monotony  of  her  life. 

One  day  as  they  were  sitting,  silent,  at  their  noon 
dinner,  the  unusual  sound  of  wheels  was  heard.  Fer- 
gus set  down  his  glass  and  listened.  "  That  must  be 
Placide  Chauvin,"  he  said.  "  He's  going  to  take  me 
to  see  the  new  bridge  at  Bayou  Blanc." 

They  listened  apprehensively,  with  the  unspoken 
fear  that  their  creditors  were  pursuing  them  even  to 
this  remote  place. 

"  My  jewels  covered  all  my  personal  debts,  you  said, 
didn't  you?  "  she  whispered.  He  nodded  without 
speaking. 

And  now  footsteps  were  heard  on  the  gallery,  the 
outside  door  was  flung  open,  and  Ronald's  voice  called, 
"  Where  are  you  all?  " 

Ronald's  voice!  With  an  inarticulate  cry,  Cath- 
erine flew  to  meet  him. 

"You  don't  know  how  glad  I  am  to  see  you!  "  he 
said  over  and  over.  "  I  thought  I'd  never  get  here. 
I  thought  the  driver  had  missed  the  way.  I  was  afraid 
to  ask  about  you  —  I  was  afraid  — "  His  voice  trem- 


24  THE  GRINDING 

bled.  "  When  any  one  has  endured  what  you  have  — " 
He  stopped,  unable  to  say  more. 

"  You  see,  Fergus,"  Catherine  cried,  "  he  hadn't  for- 
gotten us." 

"  Forgotten  you!  "  He  looked  from  one  to  the 
other. 

"  We  hoped  for  a  letter,  soon,"  Fergus  explained. 

"  A  letter!  "  Ronald  repeated.  "  Fergus,  did  you 
actually  think  I'd  wait  to  write?  I  telegraphed  as  soon 
as  I  landed.  Grace  Fessenden  telegraphed  too,  but  we 
couldn't  find  out  where  you  were.  Marc  Sutton  neg- 
lected to  answer  my  wire  " —  His  lips  stiffened  as  he 
spoke.  "  I  learned  through  the  papers  what  had  hap- 
pened. I  couldn't  believe  my  eyes."  He  turned  very 
white  as  he  spoke. 

"  You  had  not  heard  from  me?  "  Fergus  asked. 

"  Not  a  word,  and  when  I  reached  New  Orleans 
Marc  Sutton  was  off  on  a  fishing  trip  and  at  first  I 
couldn't  find  out  where  you  were." 

"  Oh,  Ronald,"  Catherine  exclaimed  piteously,  "  peo- 
ple weren't  rude  to  you  were  they?  " 

A  peculiar  expression  swept  across  his  face,  but  he 
merely  said,  "  I'll  never  forget  George  Burbank's  kind- 
ness. He  made  me  stop  with  him.  I  was  going  to 
the  club  —  but  he  took  me  with  him,  and  he  attended 
to  everything.  Found  my  letters  for  me  at  Button's 
office.  Marc  had  neglected  to  forward  them.  Bur- 
bank  knew  where  you  were  —  and  a  brother  couldn't 
have  been  kinder.  And  now  we're  all  together,  we're 
all  right.  Here,  Auntie,"  to  Marcelline,  who  entered 


THE  GRINDING  25 

at  that  moment,  "  I'm  starving.  I  want  some  of  those 
corn  dodgers.  I  haven't  seen  anything  like  them  since 
I  don't  know  when.  Bring  a  heap,  won't  you?  " 

Dropping  a  courtesy,  she  withdrew,  her  face 
wreathed  in  smiles,  and  from  that  moment  she  began 
to  love  her  new  employers. 

"  How  long  can  you  stay  with  us?  "  Fergus  asked. 

"  Forever." 

"  Ronald,"  said  Fergus,  "  you  must  not  ruin  your 
life  through  mistaken  generosity.  Remember,  we  have 
no  right  to  drag  you  down." 

"  No,"  Fergus  said  quietly,  "  one  can't  be  too  good, 
erosity,  cut  Ronald  to  the  quick.  Why  had  he  "  no 
right "?  In  an  impersonal  way,  he  knew  that  his 
father,  going  on  a  diplomatic  mission,  had  taken  his 
mother  with  him,  leaving  their  only  child  with  his 
guardian,  Ferdinand  Maine,  Fergus's  father.  They 
were  lost  at  sea  and  he  had  remained  with  his  adoptive 
parents.  Too  young  to  feel  any  loss,  he  had  grown 
up  in  the  gentlest  surroundings,  vaguely  proud  of  his 
brilliant  father,  and  revering  his  mother's  memory  as  a 
beatific  vision,  lovely  and  unreal  as  the  angels.  The 
young  stepmother  who  came  into  the  family  a  few 
years  later,  made  no  difference  between  him  and  Fer- 
gus, and  when  a  baby  sister  was  born,  he  rejoiced  with 
the  others.  He  belonged  with  them  by  the  strong  tie 
of  life-long  affection  —  why,  then,  should  he  not  suffer 
with  them?  Furthermore,  he  believed  he  was  needed 
at  Esperance.  While  angrily  rejecting  the  published 
accusations,  in  the  depths  of  his  soul  there  lurked  a 


26  THE  GRINDING 

doubt  (smother  it  as  he  would)  that  Fergus  could  man- 
age his  affairs  unaided.  He  had  always  been  a 
dreamer,  gentle,  charitable,  unworldly,  immersed  in 
his  studies.  What  wonder  that,  at  a  time  of  financial 
unrest,  his  business  affairs,  left  unquestioningly  to 
others,  should  have  suffered  shipwreck!  Yes,  at  every 
sacrifice,  Ronald  felt  he  must  stand  by  those  whom  he 
had  loved  all  his  life. 

Fergus's  voice  broke  in  on  his  abstraction.  "  You 
must  not  be  quixotic,"  it  said,  "  and  give  up  your  ap- 
pointment to  be  with  us." 

"  Oh,  my  appointment?  "  He  spoke  with  an  effort. 
"  I  failed  to  get  it,"  and  he  did  not  add  (what  was 
true),  that  there  was  a  possibility  of  his  obtaining  a 
still  more  desirable  one,  had  he  felt  free  to  accept  it. 

"  Failed!  "  the  others  exclaimed  in  a  breath. 

Impatiently,  he  tossed  back  a  lock  of  blond  hair  that 
had  fallen  upon  his  forehead.  It  seemed  to  him  as  if 
he  were  rousing  from  sleep,  as  if  he  had  been  a  long 
time  silent,  so  deep  was  the  moment  of  abstraction  in 
which  his  mind  ran  over  the  past.  "  Yes,  I  failed. 
Frankly,  I  was  as  much  astonished  as  any  one.  But 
let's  not  talk  about  it."  He  spoke  in  a  tone  of  forced 
gaiety,  but  his  face  was  pale,  and  his  gray  eyes  under 
their  level  brows  looked  dark  and  stern.  There  was 
evidently  something  he  was  keeping  back  and  Fergus 
believed  that  his  disgrace  had  had  a  share  in  this 
terrible  disappointment.  That  Ronald,  always  trium- 
phant in  everything,  should  have  failed  in  this  most 
important  particular,  was  too  incredible,  too  over- 


THE  GRINDING  27 

whelming  a  catastrophe  to  put  into  words.  It  seemed 
to  typify  the  complete  ruin  and  downfall  of  the  entire 
family,  and  the  three  sat  silent  while  the  clock  on  the 
mantel-piece  ticked  away  the  moments  toward  eter- 
nity. 

Ronald  broke  the  silence.  "  And  where  should  I 
be,  Fergus,"  he  asked,  "  but  with  you  who  have  always 
been  so  good  to  me?  You've  been  too  good,"  he 
added.  "  That  was  your  only  fault." 

"  No,"  Fergus  said  quietly,  "  one  can't  be  too  good. 
One  can  be  too  weak  and  credulous  —  but  that  isn't 
goodness.  I  know  now  that  it  is  a  vicious  thing, 
when  a  man  has  the  great  responsibility  of  wealth,  to 
drift  along,  trusting  to  others;  not  investigating  and 
learning  for  himself  whether  people  are  trustworthy  or 
not.  Spending  his  time,  as  I  did,  in  collecting,  in 
writing  articles  of  no  practical  value  to  the  world. 
All  that  is  a  roundabout  expression  for  a  fool,  I  take 
it.  I  know  all  the  kind  things  you  wish  me  to  believe; 
but  the  fact  remains,  I  did  not  watch  your  interests  as 
I  ought." 

"My  interests!"  Ronald  exclaimed  quickly;  "I 
had  none  except  those  you  gave  me.  I  have  always 
been  proud  of  my  father,  but  I  know  he  was  not  a 
rich  man.  No,  you  can't  accuse  yourself  of  neglecting 
any  interests  of  mine.  I  know  that  you  were  over- 
indulgent  toward  me.  I  imagine,  if  your  father  had 
lived,  I  should  not  have  played  the  role  of  rich  man's 
son  at  school,  as  I  did.  Your  father  was  doubtless 
made  of  sterner  stuff  than  you  are." 


28  THE  GRINDING 

"  He  ought  to  have  included  you  in  his  will,"  Fergus 
interposed. 

"  Not  at  all.  I  ought  to  have  made  my  own  way  in 
the  world.  I  believe,  now,  it  would  have  been  wiser 
for  me  to  work  my  way  through  school." 

"Oh,  Ronald!  "  Catherine  cried  in  a  shocked  tone. 

"  Yes,"  he  repeated,  "  I'd  have  been  more  manly; 
and  there  was  nothing  to  be  ashamed  of.  My  father's 
short  life  was  as  brilliant  as  possible,  and  I  must  try  to 
be  worthy  of  him.  But  you,  Fergus,  never  failed  me 
in  my  life.  I  wonder  how  many  foolish  scrapes  you 
helped  me  out  of  when  I  didn't  dare  confess  to  your 
father." 

"  You  were  never  cowardly,"  Fergus  declared. 
"  Mischievous,  but  straightforward.  And  it  was  nat- 
ural you  should  come  to  me;  I  am  so  much  older  than 
you.  I  ought  never  to  have  lost  sight  of  your  future." 

"  Fergus,"  Ronald  said  eagerly,  "  your  influence  has 
been  the  strongest  factor  for  good  in  my  whole  life." 
He  took  Fergus's  hand  in  a  strong  clasp.  "  If  there 
is  any  good  in  me,"  he  added,  "  it  is  due  to  you.  I'm 
no  longer  a  child.  It's  time  for  me  to  show  if  there 
is  any  manhood  in  me,  and  I  shall  never  leave  you," 
(He  spoke  rapidly  as  if  half  ashamed  of  his  emotion.) 
"  never,  Fergus,  so  long  as  I  can  be  any  help  to  you." 


IV 

/~|~"'HE  morning  after  Ronald's  arrival,  Marcelline  ap- 
•*•  peared  with  a  small,  inky-black  boy  who  said  his 
name  was  Pidgeon,  that  he  was  "  Mr.  Peter's  niece," 
and  that  Mr.  Fergus  had  sent  him  to  "  help  regulate 
the  house."  So  Catherine,  to  whom  it  seemed  nothing 
incongruous  that  she  should  have  servants  to  do  her 
work,  looked  on  with  languid  interest  while  Marcelline, 
Ananias,  and  Pidgeon  knocked  down  dirt-daubers' 
nests,  scrubbed  the  floors,  and  arranged  the  scanty  fur- 
niture. The  house  was  of  the  type  best  adapted  to 
that  semi-tropical  climate;  with  broad  hall,  flanked  by 
square,  lofty  rooms,  and  ending  in  a  spacious  dining- 
room.  There  was  a  very  steep,  narrow  stairway  lead- 
ing to  the  upper  floor  where  the  arrangement  of  the 
lower  one  was  repeated. 

"  There  must  have  been  more  furniture  here  at  some 
time,"  Catherine  observed  as  they  moved  a  heavy  ar- 
moire  into  a  more  convenient  position.  "  People 
couldn't  live  this  way,  you  know." 

"  Yas'm,  they  use'  to  be  plenty  furniture  here,"  said 
Marcelline.  "  Fore  the  wah',  this  were  one  er  the 
fines'  furnish'  places  in  the  parish." 

"  The  soldiers  didn't  come  down  this  far,  did  they?  " 

"  Yas'm,  they  was  plenty  soldiers  all  thoo  these 

parts;  wa'n't  they,  Nias?  "  Marcelline  replied. 

20 


30  THE  GRINDING 

Ananias  murmured  some  unintelligible  reply  and 
Marcelline  explained,  "  Yas'm,  they  was  plenty  sol- 
diers, Nias  say,  but  they  didn't  bother  Esperance 
none." 

"  How  did  you  happen  to  be  named  Ananias?  " 
Catherine  asked,  dismissing  the  subject  of  the  lost 
furniture. 

"  Hit  war  his  paw's  name,  an'  his  gran-paw's.  Hit 
are  a  Bible  name,"  Marcelline  explained  reverently. 

For  some  time  they  worked  in  silence,  then  Mar- 
celline, who  had  discovered  to  her  astonishment  that 
Catherine's  trunks  were  still  unpacked,  asked,  "  Does 
you  want  us  to  fix  you  room  'fore  you  puts  away  you 
clo'es?  " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  Catherine  answered  indiffer- 
ently; "yes,  fix  it,"  and  she  strolled  out  on  to  the 
gallery  to  watch  for  Fergus  and  Ronald.  It  was  so 
lonely  in  this  silent  land  where  nothing  ever  happened. 
So  desperately  lonely!  In  the  deep  blue  vault  of  the 
sky,  three  or  four  buzzards  were  sailing  slowly  around 
in  vast  circles,  their  wings  outspread  and  motionless; 
on  the  highroad  by  the  gate  of  Esperance,  a  cluster  of 
lean  cows  huddled  cheerlessly;  on  the  opposite  bank 
of  the  bayou,  a  straggling  collection  of  cabins  that 
comprised  the  "  quarters  "  seemed  sagging  toward  their 
fall.  Starting  up  from  the  step  on  which  she  had 
seated  herself,  she  cried,  "  There's  nothing,  nothing, 
nothing  to  do  in  this  God- forsaken  land!  "  and  Ronald 
appearing  at  this  moment,  she  flew  to  meet  him. 
Clasping  her  slender  hands  about  his  arm,  she  clung 


THE  GRINDING  31 

to  him  as  they  came  up  the  path.  It  seemed  to  give 
her  courage  merely  to  feel  that  strong  arm  in  her 
grasp.  "  What  have  you  been  doing?  "  she  asked. 

"  We're  going  over  all  the  details  of  the  place;  the 
necessary  expenditures  and  the  possible  assets,"  he 
answered  in  a  tone  of  studied  indifference.  "  It  gives 
one  a  thrill  to  be  working  against  such  odds.  It's  like 
being  on  the  losing  side  of  a  game  and  gradually  see- 
ing your  side  gain  ground." 

"  But  if  you  shouldn't  gain?  " 

"  We'll  not  admit  such  a  possibility.  It's  a  stiff 
enough  pull  at  best.  We  don't  need  to  put  any  brakes 
on;  and  if  we  all  work  with  a  will,  we'll  pull  out." 

"  If  you'll  teach  me  bookkeeping,  I'll  go  over  to  the 
sugar  house  and  help."  she  volunteered. 

"  You  couldn't  do  that,"  he  replied. 

"  Why  not?  "  she  demanded. 

"  Do  you  know  the  multiplication  table?  "  he  asked, 
meaning  to  speak  banteringly;  but  as  she  glanced  up 
she  saw  that  his  face  was  pale  and  set,  and  her  mind 
flew  back  to  their  last  interview  in  the  city.  Perhaps 
he  was  himself  conscious  of  his  harsh  tone,  for  he 
•tried  to  change  the  current  of  their  talk  by  asking 
what  she  had  been  doing  all  the  morning. 

"  Nothing,"  she  answered  drearily.  "  There  isn't  a 
thing  to  do  to  kill  time."  Her  hands  slipped  from 
his  arm  and  he  seemed  not  to  notice  it. 

"  Do  you  want  to  show  me  the  house  while  we're 
waiting  for  Fergus?  "  he  asked  as  they  mounted  the 
steps.  Fate  had  dragged  him  back  to  her,  he  re- 


32  THE  GRINDING 

fleeted;  now  he  must  be  man  enough  to  protect  him- 
self against  her  wiles,  without  adding  in  any  way  to 
her  undeniable  trials  and  hardships. 

"  There  isn't  anything  interesting  in  this  hideous 
old  house,"  she  replied  to  his  question.  "  Did  you 
ever  see  such  stairs?  You  have  to  step  up  a  yard 
each  time.  It's  like  climbing  a  ladder." 

"  Ax-hewn  boards,"  he  said,  stooping  to  examine 
them.  "  This  house  must  be  very  old.  I  wish  we 
knew  all  about  it." 

"  We  do,"  she  answered.  "  We  know  that  every 
day  has  been  exactly  like  every  other  day  for  a  hundred 
years  and  will  be  for  a  hundred  years  to  come."  In 
her  exacting  affection,  she  had  always  made  undue  de- 
mands upon  him;  trying  to  dictate  his  opinions,  occu- 
pations, friendships.  For  her,  it  was  quite  enough  that 
he  should  be  golf  champion,  and  that  his  rows  and 
rows  of  silver  cups  should  be  more  numerous  than 
those  of  his  idle-busy  companions  and  friends.  Now 
she  saw  that  he  had  withdrawn  from  her  influence; 
his  very  appearance,  blond  and  stalwart  as  a  Viking, 
with  a  trace  of  the  Viking  relentlessness,  his  very  look, 
showed  that  there  was  something  at  stake.  But  she 
little  dreamed  what  a  sacrifice  he  had  made  in  coming 
to  their  assistance. 

Pausing  at  the  door  of  the  room  which  he  had  occu- 
pied the  night  before,  he  regarded  the  scattered  cloth- 
ing, the  unmade  bed,  the  general  air  of  discomfort.  "  I 
must  learn  not  to  throw  my  things  around  that  way," 


THE  GRINDING  33 

he  commented,  and  crossing  to  the  window,  looked  out. 
"Some  one  will  make  up  the  room  after  a  while,  I 
suppose,"  she  replied.  It  did  not  occur  to  her  that 
she  had  any  responsibility  in  the  matter.  What  else 
were  servants  for,  except  to  keep  their  masters  com- 
fortable? Vaguely,  she  regretted  the  absence  of  Mrs. 
Barrow,  the  housekeeper  who  had  had  charge  ever 
since  the  death  of  Catherine's  mother,  but  somehow, 
it  seemed  to  her,  Esperance  could  take  care  of  itself. 
Her  real  discomfort  at  the  moment  rose  not  from  the 
general  household  wretchedness,  but  from  the  uneasy 
conviction  that  Fergus  had  told  Ronald  of  her  engage- 
ment to  Adolphus  Banks.  She  wished  now  she  had  not 
acted  so  impulsively,  remembering  too  late  that  Ronald 
had  accused  him  of  falsehood  and  dishonesty  at  the 
club.  Still,  she  asked  herself,  with  the  innate  propen- 
sity to  make  light  of  her  own  wrongdoings,  how  could 
she  know  that  she  should  ever  be  so  thrown  upon 
Ronald  for  companionship?  And  a  promise,  given  by 
letter,  seemed  so  easily  broken;  how  could  she  know 
it  would  so  complicate  matters  for  her?  "  Some  one 
ought  to  have  done  the  work  by  this  time,"  she  declared 
after  a  long  pause.  She  was  not  a  stupid  girl,  but  the 
change  in  her  circumstances  had  been  so  sudden  she 
had  not  yet  been  able  to  visualize  herself  in  these 
surroundings,  and  did  not  discern  what  should  have 
been  her  share  in  the  burden  they  were  carrying. 
"  There  isn't  anything  I  can  do,"  she  added,  "  if  you 
won't  teach  me  bookkeeping." 


34  THE  GRINDING 

"Oh!  "  he  ejaculated.  It  was  little  more  than  a 
sharp  exhalation  of  the  breath,  but  it  sounded  so  im- 
patient that  she  pressed  her  lips  together  to  prevent 
their  quivering.  Never  before  had  any  one  spoken 
impatiently  to  her. 

"  I  suppose,"  he  said,  "  country  girls  have  to  learn 
to  do  housework  and  take  care  of  cows  and  chickens." 

"  And  hogs?  "  she  asked  in  sudden  exasperation. 
"  You're  as  bad  as  Miss  Victorine." 

"  Like  enough,"  he  agreed  with  apparent  careless- 
ness. "  That's  a  cunning  little  top-heavy  church  over 
yonder.  And  did  you  ever  see  handsomer  pecans?  " 
indicating  a  clump  of  trees  on  the  farther  side  of  the 
bayou.  "  And  look!  Sometime  or  other,  there's  been 
an  orchard  and  a  flower  garden.  Look  at  those  climb- 
ing roses." 

Marcelline  knocked  on  the  frame  of  the  open  door. 
"  Miss  Catrine,"  she  said,  "  the  peddler's  cart  are  a- 
comin'.  What  kind  er  meat  will  I  get  fer  you-alls  din- 
ner? " 

"  Turkey,"  she  replied  promptly,  pleased  that  Ron- 
ald should  see  her  resourcefulness. 

"  He  don't  carry  no  tukkey.  M'sieur  Poisson  will 
fotch  aroun'  some  tukkey,  effen  you  wishes." 

"  Well,  chicken." 

"He  don't  have  no  chicken.     M'sieur  Poisson — " 

"  What  does  he  have?  " 

"  He  don't  have  nothin'  but  pork  meat  these  days." 

"  For  mercy's  sake!  "  said  Catherine.  "  Very  well, 
get  vegetables  and  fruit." 


THE  GRINDING  35 

"  He  don't  have  no  vegetables  these  days;  lessen  you 
orders  some  garlic  fer  the  nex'  time  he  come  down  the 
bayou." 

"Oh!  not  garlic!  Fruit!"  Catherine  exclaimed, 
turning  impatiently  away  and  looking  out  of  the  win- 
dow once  more. 

Marcelline  stepped  to  the  head  of  the  stairs  and 
said  to  Ananias,  waiting  at  the  foot,  "  Tell  M'sieur 
Bergeron  to  fotch  the  Madam  some  banana  nex'  time 
he  come  round." 

"Not  bananas!"  Catherine  cried.  "Pineapples 
and  strawberries." 

Marcelline  stood  amazed.  "  He  don't  carry  — "  she 
began,  but  Catherine  was  not  listening. 

"  That  house  by  the  church  looks  homelike,  with  its 
broad  gallery,  doesn't  it?  "  said  Ronald.  "  I  suppose 
it's  the  priest's  house." 

At  this  moment  a  tall,  angular  woman  emerged  from 
its  side  door:  a  grotesque  figure  in  her  voluminous  blue 
skirt,  her  pale  pink  waist,  and  her  hair  done  in  strange 
protuberances  like  incipient  horns. 

"Look  at  that  creature!  "  Catherine  exclaimed. 

"  That  are  Miss  Delicia,  Pere  Ignace's  sister,"  Mar- 
celline explained  from  the  rear. 

"Miss  Delicia!  "  said  Ronald.  "What  a  misno- 
mer." 

"  Yassir,"  Marcelline  agreed  without  comprehending 
his  words,  "  she  are  a  very  garmentdizing  lady.  She 
ain't  friendly  to  scarcely  nobody,  an'  she  ain't  keerin' 
fer  nothin'  but  fine  clo'es  an'  such." 


36  THE  GRINDING 

"  So  she  is  Mrs.  Grundy,"  Ronald  observed. 

"  No,  sir,"  Marcelline  corrected  him,  "  she  are  Miss 
Delicia  LeBreton.  They  ain't  no  Miss  Grundy  on 
this  bayou,  lessen  she  be  above  Bergerac.  I  doesn't 
know  them  plantation  so  good." 

"  Yes,"  said  Ronald,  looking  amused,  "  probably 
Mrs.  Grundy  must  live  in  the  neighborhood  of  Ber- 
gerac. Look,  Catherine,  at  that  house  crouching 
among  the  trees.  Is  that  the  last  house  between  here 
and  the  Gulf,  Aunt  Marcelline?  " 

"  No,  sir,"  she  replied  in  a  tone  of  surprise. 
"They's  Dr.  Bonvillain's,  an'  the  Settlement,  an' 
M'sieur  Evariste  Ledoux's,  an'  the  Trosclairs'  Malabar, 
an—" 

"The  Trosclairs',"  Ronald  interrupted.  "Where 
have  I  heard  that  name?  " 

"  They  is  you  kin  people,"  Marcelline  explained. 
"  You-alls  great-gran'maw  were  a  Miss  Felicie  Tros- 
clair,  an'  it  were  fer  another  Miss  Felicie  Trosclair 
you-alls  far-back  uncle,  Mr.  Raoul,  kilt  hisself  right 
yere  in  this  room.  You  kin  'scern  the  spot  er  his 
blood  on  the  floor  till  yet." 

"  Does  his  ghost  ever  come  back?  "  Ronald  in- 
quired. Then,  to  Catherine,  "  Wouldn't  it  be  jolly  if 
it  did?  He  could  tell  us  all  about  this  house." 

"  No,  sir,"  Marcelline  answered  firmly.  "  Ner  I 
doesn't  crave  to  meet  up  with  no  ghoses;  me." 

Ronald  now  straightened  himself  from  examining 
the  spot.  "  I'm  afraid  it's  nothing  but  dirt,"  he  said. 

"  No,  sir,"  Marcelline  repeated.    "  'Taint  no  dirt. 


THE  GRINDING  37 

Folks  has  tried  plenty  times  to  scrub  that  up,  but 
nothin'  won't  never  move  the  stain  when  humans  sheds 
they  own  blood."  Then,  after  a  deferential  pause, 
"  Does  you  keer  to  order  anythin'  else,  Miss  Catrine, 
scusin'  the  pork  meat  an'  coffee  an'  corn  pone?  " 

"  No!  "  said  Catherine,  "  but  what  a  menu!  We'll 
starve  to  death." 

"  You  won't,"  Ronald  said  in  a  low  tone.  "  Fergus 
tells  me  you  are  going  to  marry  Adolphus  Banks." 
Then,  after  a  moment,  and  with  an  evident  effort,  "  I 
never  knew  you  loved  him." 

She  was  crimson  to  the  roots  of  the  hair  as  she 
answered,  "  I  like  him  better  than  — " 

"  Than  whom?  "  he  asked  sharply. 

"  Than  any  of  the  other  men  in  our  set." 

"  May  I  ask  the  reason  for  your  preference?  " 

"  I  considered  him  more  disinterested  than  any  of 
the  others,"  she  answered,  at  a  loss  for  any  other  ex- 
planation. 

"  Why  did  you  believe  that?  "  he  demanded.  Then, 
as  she  made  no  reply,  "  I  am  asking  for  information. 
You  must  have  some  reason  for  your  belief  in  him." 

She  was  trying  to  frame  an  answer  that  would  jus- 
tify her  conduct,  when  he  broke  into  her  thoughts  with 
a  short  laugh.  "  Disinterested!  "  he  repeated.  "Adol- 
phus Banks,  disinterested!  It's  funny  how  women 
reason.  Well,  he  has  the  chance  to  show  it  now  for 
the  first  time,  and  it's  a  good  thing  at  least  that  you 
are  going  to  escape  the  poverty  for  which  you  are  so 
ill-fitted," 


38  THE  GRINDING 

"  How  am  I  going  to  escape  poverty?  "  she  de- 
manded. "  You  know  he's  poor." 

"  He  has  a  good  salary." 

"  A  good  salary?     For  what?  " 

Ronald  hesitated  for  the  fraction  of  a  second,  then 
said,  "  He  gained  the  appointment  for  which  I  was 
trying." 

"  Adolphus  Banks  has  your  appointment?  " 

"Not  mine;   I  failed." 

"  Oh,  Ronald!  "  she  exclaimed  in  a  smothered  voice, 
repressing  her  tears,  "  I'm  sorry." 


conversation  with  Ronald  left  Catherine  dis- 
tinctly  miserable.  Hitherto,  she  had  pursued  her 
own  line  of  conduct  without  regard  to  consequences, 
secure  in  the  knowledge  that  any  concession  on  her 
part  would  enable  her  to  escape  retribution.  Now  she 
had  failed.  Her  utmost  effort,  her  tears  even,  had  left 
him  unmoved.  He  cared  for  nothing  now  but  effi- 
ciency. Her  understanding  of  this  word  was  vague 
in  the  extreme,  but  in  the  same  volatile  spirit  in  which 
she  would  formerly  have  taken  up  music  or  dancing 
or  embroidery,  she  determined  to  become  efficient.  In 
her  own  way,  of  course,  which  did  not  include  the 
milking  of  terrible,  horned  cattle;  but  which  might 
mean  the  putting  away  of  her  own  clothes. 

She  was  jamming  a  pair  of  high-heeled  slippers  on 
to  a  shelf  beyond  her  reach  when  Marcelline  entered. 

"  Ain't  you  tired,  honey?  "  the  old  woman  asked  in 
her  deep,  gentle  voice. 

"  I'm  nearly  dead,"  Catherine  acknowledged,  sink- 
ing down  into  a  rocking  chair.  "  I  didn't  know  house- 
work was  so  hard." 

"  I  reckon  not,"  said  Marcelline,  "  and  I  laid  off  to 
help  you  soon's  I  could.  Pidgeon'll  do  the  dishes  fer 
me."  She  began  taking  out  the  dresses  and,  with  a 

39 


40  THE  GRINDING 

natural  instinct  for  order,  folding  and  laying  them  on 
a  shelf.  "You  clo'es  is  mighty  ticklesome  an'  tear- 
able,"  she  commented.  "  You  has  to  be  mighty  keer- 
less  when  you  wears  'em,  doesn't  you,  so's  not  to  spile 
'em?  " 

Catherine  looked  questioningly  at  the  heap  Marce- 
line  was  arranging.  "  It  seems  to  me  there  are  very 
few  things,"  she  said.  "  I  don't  see  anything  but  old, 
worn  out  evening  gowns  and  such  rubbish.  I  wonder 
what  became  of  my  street  dresses." 

"  They  mout  be  yere,"  said  Marcelline,  stooping  to 
drag  a  large  white  velvet  box  from  under  the  bed. 
On  the  lid,  the  word  "  Rex  "  glittered  in  jeweled  let- 
ters. 

Catherine  came  over  to  look,  and,  as  she  did  so, 
gave  an  uncontrollable  sob.  "  They're  my  Rex 
jewels,  Marcelline,"  she  said. 

With  a  hasty  glance  over  her  shoulder,  the  old 
woman  observed  in  an  undertone,  "  Better  not  shine 
'em  roun'  yere  too  much.  Folks  ain't  got  no  call  to 
keep  too  many  jewels  in  the  kentry.  They's  mis- 
chievious  people  — " 

"  Oh,  they're  not  real,"  Catherine  explained. 
"  They're  only  Rhinestones,  don't  you  know?  " 

Rhinestone  or  adamant,  they  were  all  one  to  Mar- 
celline, and  without  opening  the  box,  she  pushed  it 
back  under  the  bed,  saying,  "  Hit'll  be  safe  there  fer 
a  spell,  an'  Mr.  Placide  mout  know  some  good  place." 
Then  she  began  folding  a  pile  of  gauzy  garments  and 
laying  them  on  the  bed. 


THE  GRINDING  41 

"  Do  you  mean  Mr.  Placide  Chauvin?  " 

"  Yas'm;  Miss  Victorine's  son.  Her  ole  man  were 
name'  Mr.  Placide  too,  an'  he  sure  were  a  planter," 
she  added  with  emphasis.  "  He  war  some  kin  to  Nore 
Pinel  an'  Nore  Pinel  sure  were  one  planter  man." 

"  Is  he  dead?  " 

"  More'n  a  hundred  year,  I  reckon,  but  he  use'  to 
live  hereabouts,  an'  he  sure  could  plant.  He  use'  to 
talk  with  the  birds  an'  the  beasts,  an'  he  knowed  fum 
them  when  they  was  to  be  high  water  or  a  freeze,  and 
bad  weather  never  cotch  him." 

"  I  wish  he  were  here  now,"  Catherine  said,  "  to 
teach  Mr.  Fergus." 

"  Oh,  hush,  honey,"  Marcelline  exclaimed  glancing 
over  her  shoulder,  "  'taint  never  good  to  wish  dead 
folks  would  come;  they  mout.  My  gran-maw  she  liv' 
down  to  Malabar,  an'  the  ole  Madam,  (not  Madam 
Elysee  Trosclair,  but  her  maw-in-law)  were  turr'ble 
wicked.  An'  time  she  come  to  die,  my  gran-maw  were 
alone  with  her  in  that  big  house,  an'  it  were  a-stormin' 
an'  a-rainin'  an'  the  ole  Madam  were  a-dyin'  all  by 
herself,  with  nobody  there  ceppen  my  gran-maw,  an' 
she  weren't  nothin'  but  a  little  mite  er  a  nigger,  them 
days.  The  ole  Madam  were  turrible  purty  in  her 
young  days,  an'  Mr.  Raoul  here  to  Esperance  kilt 
hisself  case  she  disappint  him  an'  marry  her  cousin 
down  to  Malabar." 

"  I  remember,"  said  Catherine. 

"  Yas'm;  I  done  tole  you  'bout  that.  Well,  they 
allows  as  how  his  ghos'  hants  Malabar  twel  yit.  I 


42  THE  GRINDING 

don't  know,  me,  case  I  ain't  never  seed  it  —  ner  I 
don't  crave  to.  Some  say  it  have  always  been  a  lig- 
geroo,  ("  loup  garou  "),  an'  no  fer  true  ghos',  but  my 
gran-ma  say  pintedly  it  were  Mr.  Raoul  fum  Esper- 
ance.  Well  that  night,  she  that  were  the  purties'  on 
the  whole  bayou  in  her  young  days,  were  a-dyin'.  My 
gran-maw  were  a-settin'  on  the  floor,  side  er  the  baid. 
The  fire  were  a-bu'nin'  an'  the  room  were  all  a  red 
light,  ceppin  the  great,  black  shadder  of  the  ole  Ma- 
dam's bed.  They  weren't  a  sound  in  the  whole  house 
ceppin  the  moanin'  er  the  wind  an'  a  drap  er  water  that 
kep'  a-fallin'  an'  a-drappin'  somewheres  in  the  shadder. 
My  gran-maw  were  beginnin'  to  nod  when  the  ole 
Madam  say:  c  Sauvage,  (that  were  all  the  name  my 
gran-maw  ever  had),  I  has  ben  lonely  all  my  life  sence 
Raoul  Maine  kilt  hisself  fer  me.  I  wisht  he  was  here.' 
An'  with  that,  a  shadder  come  a-stretchin'  acrost  the 
ceilin'  like  someone  were  a-standin'  to  the  foot  of  the 
baid.  My  gran-maw  jump  up  fum  where  she  were 
a-settin',  an'  she  chunk  the  fire  an'  move  the  cheers 
away  so  they  couldn't  cast  no  shadders,  an'  then  she  go 
an'  set  down  agin;  an'  the  shadder  fade  away,  an'  my 
gran'maw  begin  ter  nod,  an'  the  wind  moan,  an'  the 
clock  in  the  hall  tick,  an'  I  reckon  my  gran'maw  drap 
off  asleep  fer  a  minute,  when  suthin'  tech  her  arm,  like 
she  were  a-dreamin'  of  ice,  it  were  so  cold.  It  were 
the  ole  Madam's  hand,  and  the  other  were  a-pintin'  up 
to  where  the  shadder  stretch  acrost  the  ceilin'  agin, 
like  someone  were  a-standin'  to  the  foot  of  the  baid. 
My  gran-maw  set  still  like  she  were  froze,  an'  her 


THE  GRINDING  43 

Madam's  hand  slip  off,  an'  the  shadder  fade  away. 
But,  Miss  Catrine,  my  gran'maw  seen  suthin'  else. 
When  that  shadder  glide  away,  they  were  another 
shadder  with  it." 

A  gust  of  wind  slammed  the  batten  shutter.  "  The 
weather's  changin',"  she  said,  opening  the  shutter  and 
then  closing  the  sash.  "  I  'lowed  to  Nias  this  mornin' 
these  warm  days  couldn't  las'  much  longer." 

When  Fergus  and  Ronald  came  plodding  wearily 
homeward,  the  cold  rain  was  falling.  Pidgeon  had 
made  an  attempt  at  building  a  fire  in  the  dining  room 
and  as  the  three  gathered  about  their  cheerless  supper 
table,  dimly  lighted  by  the  smoking  lamp,  gusts  of 
wind  shook  the  casements  and  a  cloud  of  smoke  came 
whirling  down  the  chimney.  Catherine's  mind  re- 
verted to  the  legend  of  Sauvage  at  Malabar  and  she  told 
it  to  the  sound  of  rain  beating  against  the  windows. 

"  It  was  a  wild  night,"  she  repeated  dramatically. 

"  Like  to-night,  I  suppose,"  said  Ronald.  "  Hark 
how  the  wind  moans.  It  sounds  like  a  human  voice." 

"  Strange  how  those  legends  persist,"  Fergus  com- 
mented. "  I  remember  hearing  the  story  about  Mala- 
bar when  I  was  a  little  boy.  It  used  to  frighten  me 
dreadfully." 

Catherine  leaned  forward  listening,  her  slender 
hands,  as  exquisite  as  those  of  a  child,  clasped  in  a 
characteristic  attitude.  Her  face,  grown  thin  during 
the  past  weeks,  white  and  clear  as  a  cameo.  "  I  love 
to  hear  those  legends  about  Malabar,"  she  said,  "  I 
wish  I  could  go  there." 


44  THE  GRINDING 

"  Undoubtedly  you  can  if  you  wish,"  Fergus  re- 
plied. "  They  are  really  our  relatives  although  dis- 
tant ones.  But  I  fear  you  would  find  them  very  un- 
satisfactory. Totally  provincial  and  unaccustomed  to 
meeting  people." 

"  I  want  to,"  she  repeated.     "  They  fascinate  me." 

"  The  legends  about  Esperance  might  be  just  as  in- 
teresting if  we  knew  them,"  Ronald  observed,  his  gaze 
directed  toward  Fergus,  but  taking  in  Catherine  in 
her  white  satin  evening  gown  and  coral  colored 
shoulder  scarf  —  so  inappropriate  for  her  present  sur- 
roundings and  so  indicative  of  her  childish  vanity,  as 
he  forced  himself  to  remember.  Knowing  nothing  of 
her  depleted  wardrobe,  he  believed  her  costume  to  be 
another  proof  of  the  unquenchable  coquetry  which 
wished  to  retain  its  hold  over  him,  even  while  it 
claimed  the  allegiance  of  his  personal  enemy,  Adolphus 
Banks.  "  She  sided  with  him  against  me  in  a  question 
of  veracity,"  he  thought,  while  his  soul  grew  hot  within 
him,  and  for  the  hundredth  time  he  repeated  to  him- 
self her  expression,  "  At  least  he's  disinterested." 

Fergus,  on  the  other  hand,  who  loved  her  with  an 
almost  paternal  affection,  looked  anxiously  at  her. 
"  You  are  cold,  Cathie,"  he  said.  "  You  look  very 
pale,"  and  rising  he  crossed  the  room  to  close  the  door 
that  had  swung  noiselessly  open.  Pausing  at  the  un- 
curtained window  he  looked  out  into  the  darkness. 
"  It's  turning  bitterly  cold,"  he  exclaimed,  and  shud- 
dered involuntarily. 


VI 

THE  opportunity  to  visit  Malabar  came  sooner 
than  expected.  The  morning  after  she  had  told 
the  story  about  Sauvage,  when  Fergus  and  Ronald  had 
gone  to  their  work,  Catherine,  forgetting  her  new  plan 
of  efficiency,  was  walking  listlessly  back  and  forth  on 
the  front  gallery,  glancing  now  and  then  at  the  high 
road  where  the  wind  was  raising  little  eddies  of  dust, 
and  where,  at  long  intervals,  a  cart  creaked  by  on  its 
way  to  the  distant  village  of  Bergerac.  She  had  noth- 
ing to  read,  for  those  who  did  the  packing  had  not 
included  books.  In  fact,  they  had  sent  nothing  but  a 
heterogeneous  mass  of  old  evening  wraps,  tea  gowns, 
high-heeled  slippers,  broken  opera  glasses,  and  so  on. 
One  noticeable  characteristic  was  that  all  the  garments 
were  out  of  date,  and  she  wondered  from  what  ancient 
cedar  chest  they  had  been  unearthed.  Thinking  cas- 
ually of  this  matter,  she  slipped  her  hands  into  her 
sleeves  and  clasped  her  elbows  to  keep  them  warm  as 
she  walked  back  and  forth,  counting  her  steps.  What 
did  people  do  to  pass  the  time  in  the  country,  she 
wondered,  then  resumed  her  counting:  "  Five  hundred 
and  one,  five  hundred  and  two,  five  hundred  and  three." 
Her  high-heeled  slipper  turned  and  she  twisted  her 
ankle.  As  she  stopped  and  rubbed  it,  she  was  still 

45 


>i6  THE  GRINDING 

wondering  what  people  did  to  pass  the  weeks  am? 
months  and  years  of  their  lives.  How  long  time  was, 
any  way,  she  thought.  How  interminably  long!  Of 
course,  she  had  been  in  country  places  before,  but 
they  had  always  been  the  elaborately  rural  resorts  pre- 
pared for  rich  people.  "  Camps  "  fitted  up  with  elec- 
tric lights  and  telephones  and  motor  cars  and  with 
trained,  liveried  servants  to  anticipate  every  wish. 

Marcelline  appeared  at  the  door.  "  Miss  Catrine," 
she  asked,  "  does  you  want  some  one  to  do  your 
washin'?  " 

"Why,  of  course!  "  Catherine  replied,  astonished 
that  one  must  plan  such  elementary  things  as  having 
one's  washing  done.  She  had  noticed  that  her  piles 
of  clean  clothing  were  nearly  exhausted,  but  that  had 
suggested  nothing  to  her. 

"  Chukey  Nightshed  say  she  kin  do  it,"  Marcelline 
suggested  hesitatingly.  "  She  say  she  are  right  han'- 
some  at  washin' — but  you  know  she  are  a  Ab'aham 
Lingcum  nigger." 

"  A  what?  " 

"  A  Ab'aham  Lingcum  nigger  —  born  sence  the  war; 
you  know  they  is  all  right,  Miss  Catrine,  but  they 
isn't  as  well  train'  as  the  Jeff  Davis  niggers." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  care.     Have  her  do  it." 

"  In  our  wash  house?  " 

"  Yes,  yes;  I  don't  care  where." 

"  Does  you  want  to  count  the  clo'es?  " 

"  Mercy,  no;  go  on  and  have  her  do  it,"  and  she 
resumed  her  walk,  thinking  that  really  Marcelline  was 


THE  GRINDING  47 

very  tiresome  at  times.  And  now  the  long,  wailing 
note  of  a  conch  shell  reached  her,  and  from  around 
the  bend  in  front  of  Miss  Victorine's  house,  a  lugger 
glided  into  view.  It  stopped  at  the  bridge,  and  a 
figure  standing  at  the  prow,  waited  with  statuesque 
patience  to  blow  another  signal  if  the  bridge  did  not 
open.  He  was  bare-headed  and  the  wind  tossed  his 
dark  hair  and  the  ends  of  the  red  neckerchief  knotted 
about  his  throat.  Catherine  looked  at  him  with  pleas- 
ure, he  was  so  graceful  and  picturesque.  Uncle  Peter, 
the  bridge  tender,  hobbled  slowly  out  of  his  cabin 
on  the  bayou  side,  and  parleyed  with  him.  She  did 
not  know  that  Uncle  Peter  was  refusing  to  open  the 
bridge  unless  the  boatman  first  sold  him  some  oysters 
for  the  Big  House.  This  was  a  frequent  way  of  get- 
ting supplies  on  the  bayou,  and  Marcelline  had  com- 
missioned him  to  waylay  the  passing  boats.  At  first 
the  boatman  was  obdurate,  preferring  to  carry  his 
whole  cargo  to  Bergerac.  Finally,  however,  the  bridge 
opened,  the  lugger  glided  through,  turning  its  vast  ex- 
panse of  crimson  sail  toward  the  morning  sun,  and 
presently  Uncle  Peter  came  trundling  a  wheelbarrow 
on  which  lay  a  mass  of  dark,  dripping  shells  secured  by 
his  innocent  piracy.  In  a  few  moments,  Catherine 
heard  voices  in  murmured  conversation,  emanating 
from  the  kitchen,  a  square,  detached  building  at  some 
distance  from  the  main  house. 

When  Uncle  Peter  left,  Marcelline  returned  to  the 
gallery.  "  Does  you  'member  'bout  Malabar,  Miss 
Catrine?  "  she  asked. 


48  THE  GRINDING 

"  Yes !  "  said  Catherine  with  sudden  interest. 

"  Unc'  Timothy  Brim  from  Malabar  war  on  that 
boat,  and  he  say  they's  havin'  plenty  trouble  down  yon- 
der. The  liggeroo  have  ben  a-prowlin'  roun'  there,  a- 
cryin'  in  the  swamp,  an'  a-peepin'  into  the  winders  an' 
scarin'  the  young  Madam  into  high-ster ricks.  Miss 
Hortense  don't  believe  in  no  liggeroo,  an'  the  young 
Madam  rare  an'  charge  an'  say  hit  are  all 
Miss  Hortense  fault  the  liggeroo  are  there. 
An'  Unc'  Timothy  are  a-goin'  up  to  Bergerac 
fer  the  young  doctor.  I  reckon  somebody  done 
conjur  the  young  Madam  —  'case  she  sure  are 
mean,  an'  neither  she  ain't  quality  —  but,  howsome- 
dever,  her  ole  man,  Mr.  Ovide,  have  done  sont  fer  the 
doctor,  an'  crave  fer  Miss  Victorine  to  come  down  an' 
lend  a  hand.  But  Miss  Victorine  have  went  over  to 
Bayou  Blanc  —  an'  shore's  you  is  born,  that  liggeroo 
ain't  a-hantin'  Malabar  fer  nothin'.  Hit  are  a  warnin', 
sure." 

"  Marcelline,"  Catherine  exclaimed,  her  face  flush- 
ing with  eagerness,  "I'd  like  to  go  and  help.  Would 
they  think  it  an  intrusion?  " 

Marcelline  hesitated.  Of  what  use  could  so  helpless 
a  person  be,  she  wondered.  And  yet  her  eagerness 
was  so  manifest  the  old  woman  was  reluctant  to  put 
her  doubts  into  words. 

"  I  want  to  go,"  Catherine  cried,  clasping  her  hands 
—  those  slender,  useless  hands. 

"Jacques  Lirette  are  a-comin'  back  to-day,"  Mar- 
celline mused,  "  but,"  with  sudden  decision,  "  you 


THE  GRINDING  49 

cain't  go  in  his  boat.  He  are  mighty  bold  an'  sassy, 
and  you  cain't  mix  up  with  no  sech  trash.  But  neither 
the  young  Madam  ain't  quality.  She  come  from  the 
oyscher  reefs,  an'  Mr.  Ovide  done  wrong  to  marry  her, 
an'  'tain't  fitten  fer  you  to  mix  up  with  her  nor  no- 
body like  her,  neither."  Like  all  self-respecting  plan- 
tation negroes,  Marcelline  was  keenly  alive  to  the  dif- 
ference betwen  "  quality  "  and  "  trash  "  and  resented 
the  crossing  from  one  caste  to  another. 

"  Who  is  Miss  Hortense?  "  Catherine  demanded 
eagerly,  ignoring  Marcelline's  last  words. 

"  She  are  Mr.  Ovide's  sister;  you-alls  far-away  par- 
ent." 

"  Oh,  I  want  to  go,"  Catherine  repeated.  "  I  will 
go!  "  she  asserted  after  another  pause. 

"  I  could  drive  you  down,"  Marcelline  began. 
"  They  ain't  plowin',  an'  Gladys  an'  Damon  could  haul 
you  —  but  —  Miss  Hortense  are — "  She  paused  as 
if  uncertain  how  to  continue  her  objections. 

"  I  don't  care  if  she  is,"  Catherine  interrupted  in  her 
headstrong  way.  "  If  Damon  and  Pythias  —  or  what- 
ever the  mules'  names  may  be  —  if  they're  plowing, 
they  can  stop.  That's  all.  I'm  going."  She  could 
scarcely  have  explained  why  she  longed  so  ardently  to 
take  this  trip,  nor  what  she  anticipated  in  the  visit.  It 
was  "  something  to  do  "  and  that  was  reason  enough. 

Fergus  was  somewhat  taken  aback  when  he  learned 
at  dinner  that  a  trip  to  Malabar  was  to  be  made  that 
very  day;  that  Marcelline  was  to  act  as  driver,  and 
Ananias  would  take  her  place  and  cook  supper. 


50  THE  GRINDING 

"  Shall  you  be  back  before  dark?  "  he  asked  anx- 
iously after  helping  Catherine  into  the  rickety  vehicle. 

"  Hit'll  be  the  aidge  er  the  evenin'  er  later,"  Mar- 
celline,  who  was  starting  with  manifest  reluctance,  as- 
sured him;  but  Catherine,  impatient  to  be  off,  merely 
waved  good-by. 

The  road,  stretching  ahead,  followed  the  windings  of 
the  bayou.  A  blue  kingfisher  flying  before  them, 
skimming  swiftly  along  close  to  the  surface  of 
the  water,  was  reflected  in  its  brown  bosom.  The 
day  was  cold  in  spite  of  the  fitful  sunlight,  and 
as  the  wind  swept  up  the  bayou,  Catherine  but- 
toned her  coat  more  tightly,  congratulating  her- 
self that  it  had  not  disappeared  with  her  other  posses- 
sions. 

Presently  they  came  in  sight  of  an  unpainted  house 
with  toppling  mud  chimney.  It  was  surrounded  by 
leafless  China  trees,  their  shriveled  balls  dropping  on 
the  bare  earth  where  a  few  lean  fowls  wandered  and 
scratched,  picking  at  the  broken  crockery  in  the  fence 
corners.  On  the  dilapidated  gate  leaned  a  young 
woman  with  a  baby  in  her  arms.  The  woman  was 
barefoot,  bareheaded,  unkempt,  unwashed.  Two  or 
three  emaciated  hounds  sniffed  and  yelped  at  the  ve- 
hicle. Marcelline  bowed  in  passing.  The  woman 
stared  at  Catherine  whose  tailored  suit  was  more 
amazing  to  her  than  wampum  and  war  paint  would 
have  been.  Catherine,  for  her  part,  looked  at  the 
woman  with  an  expression  of  distaste  and  aloofness 
mingled  with  the  most  unbounded  surprise,  for  never 


THE  GRINDING  51 

in  her  sheltered  life  had  she  beheld  such  an  object  as 
her  haughty  gaze  now  rested  upon. 

"  That  are  Madam  Bonvillain;  Dr.  Bonvillain's  ole 
lady,"  Marcelline  explained  when  they  had  passed. 

"  I  didn't  know  there  was  a  doctor  nearer  than 
Bergerac,"  said  Catherine.  "  Evidently  he  has  no 
practice." 

"  Yas'm,  he  are  got  plenty  practice,"  Marcelline  cor- 
rected. 

"  I  suppose  they  pay  him  next  to  nothing  then," 
Catherine  hazarded.  "  Doctors  in  the  country  can't 
make  much." 

"  Yas'm  they  does,"  Marcelline  corrected  again. 
"  They  suttinly  comes  high.  They  charges  a  dollar  a 
mile  —  an'  it  ain't  never  lessen  a  mile  to  nowhar." 

"  I  wonder  where  he  studied,"  Catherine  said  indif- 
fently  —  not  that  she  cared,  but  merely  speculating 
idly  as  one  does  over  unfamiliar  objects. 

"  Him?  "  Marcelline  exclaimed,  "  he  ain't  never 
studied.  He's  a  natural  doctor.  He  ain't  never 
needed  to  study  like  that  young  doctor  up  to  Bergerac. 
Dr.  Bonvillain  don't  know  how  to  read  ner  write;  ner 
he  don't  need  to.  He  has  jes'  got  natural  knowledge. 
He  know  all  about  sickness.  He  don't  believe  in  givin' 
all  them  messes  what  other  doctors  gives.  He  say 
tha's  all  foolishness.  He  kin  doctor  you  'thout  .so 
much  as  lookin'  at  you.  He  jes'  send  word:  Tust  off, 
you  take  calomel  —  a  plenty  of  it.  Then  you  take 
castor  oil,  then  you  take  quinine!  '  Drunk  or  sober, 
them's  all  he  give.  Them  three  drugs." 


52  THE  GRINDING 

And  now  they  came  in  sight  of  a  row  of  cabins 
thatched  with  palmetto  leaves.  There  were  nets  dry- 
ing on  the  fences ;  and  on  the  bayou  side,  frames  under 
which  fires  were  burning.  Around  the  frames,  through 
the  thick  smoke  that  rose  from  the  smouldering  flames, 
the  forms  of  half  naked  children  could  be  dimly  dis- 
cerned stirring  masses  of  coral-colored  shrimp  spread 
out  to  dry.  As  the  vehicle  approached,  the  children 
stopped  their  work  and  gazed  at  Catherine  with  the 
timidity  of  untamed  creatures.  Beside  one  of  the 
cabins  was  a  row  of  bee  hives. 

"  These  people  seem  thrifty,"  Catherine  observed. 
"  I  see  they  keep  bees." 

"  Yas'm,"  Marcelline  replied  in  a  disparaging  tone. 
"  That  are  ole  man  Lirette's  place;  but  he  don't  make 
much  fum  his  bees.  They  loses  so  much  time." 

"  How  so?  "  Catherine  asked.  "  On  account  of  the 
weather?  " 

"  No,  Ma'am;  on  account  of  they  religion." 

"  I  don't  understand,"  Catherine  exclaimed  in  be- 
wilderment. 

"  Bees  doesn't  never  wuk  Sundays,"  Marcelline  ex- 
plained, "  neither  feast  days,  neither  fast  days ;  an' 
them's  Catholic  bees  an'  they  has  plenty  holy  days  in 
they  chu'ch.  An'  they  won't  wuk  effen  they  owners 
is  in  mou'nin'  an'  fergits  to  put  suthin'  black  on  ter 
the  hives,  so's  they  kin  mou'n  too." 

Back  of  the  row  of  cabins  a  vast  sweep  of  meadow 
reached  to  the  horizon.  "  Is  that  a  rice  field?  "  Cath- 
erine asked. 


THE  GRINDING  S3 

Marcelline  turned  and  gave  her  mistress  a  searching 
look,  then  having  apparently  satisfied  herself  that  the 
question  was  asked  in  good  faith,  she  replied,  "  That 
ain't  nothin',  Miss  Catrine,  ceppin  a  floatin'  prairie. 
Nothin'  won't  never  grow  there  an'  it  ain't  no  use  on 
God's  earth." 

"  There  surely  are  things  growing  there,"  Gather- 
ing argued.  "  I  see  them." 

"  Yas'm,  they's  things  growin',"  Marcelline  agreed, 
"  but  in  underneath,  it  ain't  nothin'  but  water  with 
trash  what  have  floated  on  ter  it  an'  weeds  what  has 
sprouted  an'  grewd.  It  air  the  deceivin'est  thing  in 
the  world.  Effen  you  was  to  try  to  step  on  ter  it, 
you'd  sink  right  down  over  your  haid  in  water.  Some- 
times I  wonders,"  she  said  musingly,  "  why  it  were  ever 
made,  case  they  says  everything  have  some  use." 

"  I  should  think  they'd  drain  it,"  said  Catherine,  and 
again  Marcelline  turned  a  questioning  look  upon  her. 

"  They's  miles  an'  miles  of  floatin'  prairie  in  this 
parish,"  she  explained.  "  I  don't  reckon  it  kin  be 
drained,  no  more'n  Barataria  Bay.  Effen  it  could  be, 
I  reckon  Mr.  Tobias  would  sure  have  buyed  it  cheap 
an'  drained  it  too  long  ago  to  talk  about.  But  it  have 
ben  there  sence  world  without  end,  an'  I  reckon  hit'll 
stay  till  Jedgment  Day." 

The  carriage  wheels  now  ran  along  the  edge  of  the 
bayou,  crushing  the  wild  morning  glory  vines,  the  cy- 
press and  May-pop,  where  occasionally  a  belated  blos- 
som showed  a  gleam  of  carmine  or  azure.  On  the  op- 
posite side  of  the  bayou,  in  a  place  where  the  bank 


54  THE  GRINDING 

was  a  jungle  of  thorn  bushes  and  creepers,  Catherine 
dimly  discerned  an  unpainted  cross,  overgrown  with 
lichens  and  sagging  to  one  side  as  if  about  to  fall. 

"  What's  that?  "  she  asked. 

"  They  allows  that  are  Nore  Pinel  grave,"  Marcel- 
line  replied. 

"  Nore  Pinel!  "  Catherine  exclaimed.  "  It's  strange 
he  should  be  buried  in  this  remote  place  —  here  on 
the  bayou  side." 

"  No,  Ma'am,  'tain't  strange,"  Marcelline  corrected 
her,  "  'case  he  war  a  fisherman." 

"  I  thought  he  was  a  planter." 

"  Yas'm,  he  war  a  planter,  an'  he  war  a  fisherman. 
He  could  turn  his  hand  to  anything.  Times  he  plant, 
an'  times  he  hunt,  an'  times  he  fish;  but  mos'ly,  he  fish. 
He  could  fish/"  Marcelline  drawled  impressively. 
"  He  cotch  whales  an'  sharks  an'  mermaze.  I  ain't 
never  see  them  kin's  er  fish,  but  they  tells  me  he  cotch 
'em  jes'  ez  easy  ez  nothin'." 

"  I  have  seen  whales  and  sharks,"  said  Catherine, 
"  but  never  mermaids." 

"  They  tells  me  they  is  sca'ce,"  Marcelline  observed, 
"  but  he  cotch  'em." 

The  road  grew  lonelier  and  more  desolate;  the  bayou 
widened  and  there  was  no  sign  of  human  life.  No 
sound  except  the  whispering  of  the  wind  in  the  tall, 
dried  grasses  on  the  bank,  or  the  occasional  scream  of 
a  gull  or  an  osprey  flying  overhead.  Skirting  the  edge 
of  the  floating  prairie,  they  came  to  higher  ground 
where  they  were  able  to  move  more  rapidly.  Here 


THE  GRINDING  55 

they  passed  a  lugger  beating  its  slow  way  against  the 
wind  to  the  Gulf  for  a  night's  fishing.  Leaning  over 
the  edge,  watching  her,  was  the  same  figure  she  had 
seen  that  morning  parleying  with  Uncle  Peter.  The 
stinging  wind  that  tossed  his  dark  hair,  painted  his 
cheeks  a  vivid  carmine.  As  their  eyes  met,  he  smiled 
and  it  was  like  a  flash  of  sunlight.  Seated  at  the  stern 
of  the  boat  was  an  old  man  smoking  a  pipe  and  stolidly 
staring  at  her. 

"  Who  are  they?  "  Catherine  asked. 

"  Ole  man  Lirette  an'  his  son,  M'sieur  Jacques." 

"  Oh,  the  ones  that  own  the  bees?  " 

"  Yas'm." 

"  They  are  fishermen?  "  Catherine  asserted  rather 
than  asked. 

"  The  ole  man  are.  M'sieur  Jacques  ain't  nothin'. 
He  kin  dance,  an'  he  kin  sing,  an'  all  them  fool  gals 
fum  Bergerac  to  the  Gulf  is  crezzy  about  him  —  but 
he  don't  wuk,  ceppin  when  the  notion  take  him.  That 
are  Madam  Lirette  fault.  She  spile  him.  Every  time 
he  ax  fer  the  moon  she  cut  it  right  down  an'  hand  it 
to  him.  His  sisters  kin  wuk  'case  they  ain't  purty; 
but  him!  He  don't  do  a  blessed  thing  lessen  he  feel 
like  it." 

Catherine  turned  and  looked  at  him.  He  had  risen 
and  was  standing  at  the  prow  watching  her;  as  grace- 
ful, as  boyishly  beautiful  as  a  young  Greek  god.  And 
as  their  eyes  met,  he  smiled  again  —  a  smile  so  allur- 
ing that,  unconsciously,  she  smiled  back. 


VII 

THE  drive  proved  longer  than  expected  and  night 
was  falling  when,  emerging  from  a  strip  of  thick 
woods,  they  drew  up  at  a  gate  flanked  by  tall  posts  on 
which  moss-grown  urns  showed  dimly  in  the  light  of 
the  carriage  lamps. 

"  Malabar,"  Marcelline  announced,  descending  pon- 
derously from  the  vehicle  to  open  the  gate. 

At  the  sound  of  their  rattling  wheels  as  they  drove 
up  the  long,  winding  approach  through  the  trees,  a 
slender  figure  came  out  on  to  the  gallery  carrying  a 
lamp.  Catherine's  heart  gave  a  bound.  This  was 
what  she  had  hoped  for  —  this  woman  with  the  pure, 
refined  face  illumined  in  the  surrounding  darkness  like 
that  of  a  saint  in  a  shrine.  Here  was  companionship. 

Catherine  spoke  eagerly  as  she  ascended  the  steps. 
"  I  am  Catherine  Maine,"  she  said.  "  I  heard  that 
Mrs.  Trosclair  was  ill  and  I  came,  hoping  I  might 
help." 

The  lady  greeted  her  with  grave  courtesy,  leading 
her  into  a  great,  cheerless  room  where  everything  — 
the  empty  fireplace,  the  uncurtained  windows,  every- 
thing—  spoke  of  poverty.  The  lady  seated  herself 
beside  a  table  on  which  she  had  placed  the  lamp,  and 
without  a  word,  began  knitting.  There  was  absolute 

56 


THE  GRINDING  57 

silence  except  for  the  ticking  of  a  clock  somewhere  at 
a  distance;  the  very  clock,  Catherine  imagined,  that 
had  measured  the  last  hours  of  the  "  old  Madam's  " 
life. 

"  I  heard  that  Mrs.  Trosclair  was  ill,"  Catherine 
repeated  after  waiting  in  vain  for  the  other  to  speak, 
"  and  that  you  had  sent  for  the  doctor." 

The  lady  looked  at  her  with  inscrutable  dark  eyes; 
eyes  so  dark,  so  large,  they  gave  her  pale,  delicate  face 
an  emaciated  look.  There  was  about  her  an  aloofness 
as  if  the  silence  had  penetrated  her  very  soul. 

"  I  think  Mrs.  Trosclair's  trouble  is  more  an  affec- 
tion of  the  nerves  than  of  the  body,"  she  replied  with 
apparent  effort.  "  I  am  surprised  Uncle  Timothy 
should  have  intruded  upon  you!' 

"  He  wanted  Miss  Victorine,"  Catherine  explained. 
"He  didn't  ask  for  me;  but  she  had  gone  to  Bayou 
Blanc.  I  wanted  to  come.  I  am  lonely,"  she  added, 
"  and  I  believe  we  are  related  —  are  we  not?  " 

The  lady  seemed  not  to  hear,  but  continued  knitting, 
her  eyes  resting  upon  some  fathomless  abyss  of  space. 
Apparently  she  had  become  oblivious  of  her  surround- 
ings, and  Catherine,  wounded  in  her  tenderest  point  — 
her  pride  —  longed  to  escape.  Oh,  why  had  she  come! 
Why  had  she  not  obeyed  Marcelline's  hinted  sugges- 
tion that  it  would  be  best  not  to  know  these  unfriendly 
Trosclairs?  Had  the  shame  and  ridicule  with  which 
Fergus  had  been  assailed  penetrated  even  here? 
Were  they  still  to  be  shunned  and  scorned?  Had  they 
not  yet  escaped  the  threatened  prison  shadow?  She 


58  THE  GRINDING 

wished  the  lady  would  realize  how  lonely  she  was,  how 
innocent  of  wrongdoing,  how  starved  for  companion- 
ship. 

A  man  appeared  at  the  half  open  door  and  now 
Catherine  became  conscious  of  a  woman's  voice  quer- 
ulously moaning.  "  Hortense,"  he  said,  "  don't  you 
think  the  doctor  will  be  here  soon?  "  His  thin  lips 
were  compressed  as  if  to  prevent  their  trembling. 

"  He  should  be  here  now,"  the  lady  replied.  "  Some- 
thing must  have  detained  him."  Then  to  Catherine, 
"  Miss  Maine,  this  is  my  brother,  Ovide  Trosclair." 

He  barely  acknowledged  the  introduction  and  re- 
peated, "  He'll  surely  be  here  soon.  Don't  you  think 
so?" 

"  I  hope  so,"  the  lady  replied,  and  added,  "  Miss 
Maine  came  to  help." 

"  She's  very  kind,"  he  said  in  an  absent,  perfunc- 
tory tone,  evidently  listening  for  a  sound  outside. 
Then  he  broke  off  fretfully,  "I  wish  he'd  come!  I 
think  she's  getting  worse." 

"  I  think  it  can't  be  much  longer  now,"  his  sister 
reassured  him,  and  he  left  the  room  without  glancing 
at  Catherine. 

"  Am  I  of  so  little  importance?  "  she  thought  with 
a  confused  nightmare  feeling.  Manifestly,  they  neither 
needed  nor  wished  her  presence  —  yet  she  felt  desper- 
ately that  she  must,  she  would  conquer  the  indiffer- 
ence of  this  kinswoman  —  her  own  blood  —  and  yet  as 
remote  as  if  oceans  separated  them.  And  as  she  looked 
at  her,  yearning  with  her  whole  heart  for  her  friend- 


THE  GRINDING  59 

ship,  searching  in  her  mind  for  some  word  that  might 
prove  a  bond  between  them,  a  face  looked  in  from 
the  blackness  outside.  A  white  face  with  hollow  eyes 
in  which  the  lamp-light  glittered;  a  face  whose  pallor 
was  intensified  by  a  dark  spot  on  one  temple.  At 
her  startled  gasp,  Hortense  Trosclair  became  suddenly 
conscious  of  her  presence,  and  rose,  gazing  at  her  with 
an  eager,  questioning  look. 

"  What  did  you  see?  "  she  asked  in  a  hushed  tone. 

"A  face,"  Catherine  said  tremulously;  "a  face — " 
she  could  say  no  more,  but  motioned  with  a  shaking 
hand  toward  the  glass  door.  Without  a  word,  Hor- 
tense walked  out  into  the  darkness.  Quivering  in  every 
limb,  afraid  to  go,  yet  afraid  to  remain  alone  in  the 
vast,  shadowy  room,  Catherine  followed  and  stood  be- 
side her.  There  was  not  a  sound  to  break  the  stillness. 
Even  the  night  wind  seemed  to  hold  its  breath. 

"  Might  you  not  have  been  mistaken?  "  the  lady 
whispered. 

"  No,"  Catherine  breathed,  peering  into  the  darkness 
about  them.  "  I  saw  it  plainly." 

"  Could  it  not  have  been  an  optical  illusion?  " 

"  No,"  Catherine  repeated  almost  inaudibly,  "  I  saw 
it  plainly.  There  was  a  stain  of  blood  on  one  temple. 
Fresh  blood  — " 

The  lady  pressed  her  hands  together.  They  stood 
listening,  and  now,  close  beside  them  a  voice  broke  the 
stillness  with  weird,  mournful  tremolo.  Convulsively, 
Catherine  caught  Hortense's  hands. 

"  How  foolish  we  are,"  the  lady  said,  gently  disen- 


60  THE  GRINDING 

gaging  herself.     "  Did  you  never  hear  an  owl  before?  " 

"  Never,"  Catherine  replied,  shuddering. 

"  You  are  excusable,"  Hortense  observed  in  her  tone 
of  aloofness  and  abstraction.  Then,  after  a  momen- 
tary silence,  she  repeated,  "  You  are  excusable,  for  you 
are  young  and  unaccustomed  to  the  country,  but  I, 
who  am  old  enough  to  be  your  mother  and  who  have 
lived  for  years  in  this  solitude,  ought  not  to  be  so 
easily  startled.  You  must  have  seen  it  fly  past  the 
door.  At  night  one  easily  mistakes  shadows  for  real- 
ity." 

"  But  sometimes,"  Catherine  began,  then  stopped, 
not  wishing  to  be  too  insistent.  After  a  moment,  she 
added,  "  My  mother's  family,  the  Fessendens,  have 
Irish  blood,  and  they  say  the  Celtic  strain  always 
brings  superstition  with  it." 

"  'Fessenden,'  "  the  lady  repeated  in  a  changed  tone. 
"  It  is  an  unusual  name.  I  never  knew  but  one  person 
named  Fessenden." 

"  You  know  a  Fessenden?  "  Catherine  asked  eagerly, 
feeling  that,  at  last,  she  had  found  a  link  between 
them.  "  What  is  the  given  name?  I'm  always  inter- 
ested in  every  one  of  that  name." 

"  Ralph  was  the  given  name,"  said  the  lady,  hesi- 
tating as  if  she  spoke  with  difficulty. 

"  Ralph  Fessenden!  "  Catherine  ejaculated.  "  Why, 
he  was  my  mother's  cousin!  It  must  be  he.  Where 
did  you  meet  him?  " 

"  In  London  —  many  years  ago.  Where  is  he 
now?  " 


THE  GRINDING  61 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Catherine.  "  I,  too,  saw  him 
last  in  London,  when  I  was  quite  a  little  girl.  I  re- 
member I  admired  him  extravagantly  and  I  have  heard 
since  that  he  was  very  brilliant.  How  interesting  that 
you  knew  him!  " 

"  And  you  don't  know  what  became  of  him?  " 

"  In  a  way,  yes.  There  was  some  sort  of  story  — 
I  don't  remember  exactly  what — "  She  paused,  and 
then  went  on,  anxious  to  hold  the  interest  of  this 
woman  who  had  fascinated  her.  She  could  not  have 
explained  the  charm  that  Hortense  Trosclair  possessed 
for  her,  but  she  longed  to  take  her  in  her  arms,  to 
beg  for  her  love.  She  had  found  her  —  must  she  lose 
her?  Could  she  not  claim  and  hold  her  by  the  strong 
right  of  kindred  blood? 

"  And  you  don't  know  what  became  of  him,"  Hor- 
tense Trosclair  repeated  as  if  to  herself. 

"  I  think  he  disappeared  from  the  world  long  ago. 
He  was  in  Switzerland  and  it  was  believed  that  he  was 
lost  in  a  crevasse  in  one  of  the  glaciers.  No,  I  think 
he  was  lost  at  sea  —  or  something  —  I  don't  remember 
the  details,  but  I  know  he  disappeared.  Everyone  was 
very  much  shocked,  I  remember,  and  wouldn't  speak 
of  it  before  me  —  but  I  heard  enough  to  know  that  he 
was  dead." 

The  lady  drew  a  faint,  shuddering  sigh.  From  a 
distance  came  the  silvery,  minor  note  of  the  owl,  and 
now  Catherine  felt,  rather  than  heard,  far  off,  a  rhyth- 
mic vibration  which  was  scarcely  a  sound.  She  stood 
in  silence  beside  Hortense  Trosclair,  who  had  already 


62  THE  GRINDING 

forgotten  her.  Nearer  came  the  hoof  beats  and  nearer, 
now  mingled  with  the  rattle  of  wheels,  and  finally 
there  emerged  from  the  darkness  the  young,  rosy-faced 
doctor  with  old  Uncle  Timothy  Brim  beside  him. 

Catherine  stood  irresolute.  Hortense  Trosclair  had 
bidden  her  good-by  with  a  clasp  of  the  hand  as  light 
as  the  touch  of  a  snowflake,  and  with  a  perfunctory 
word  of  thanks  had  dismissed  her  forever  and  ever. 
They  had  no  need  of  her.  She  groped  her  way  down 
the  steps,  her  eyes  smarting  with  unshed  tears. 

Huddled  in  one  corner  of  the  vehicle,  she  rode 
silently  through  the  interminable  darkness.  Marcel- 
line,  now  dozing,  now  waking  with  a  start,  muttered 
imprecations  upon  the  proverbial  inhospitality  of  the 
Trosclairs.  The  carriage  lamps  cast  fantastic  shad- 
ows in  long  perspective  across  the  bare  fields  where  a 
few  withered  husks  of  cane  whispered  in  the  cold  night 
wind.  The  fishermen's  settlement  was  dimly  outlined 
in  the  wavering  lights;  then,  after  another  long  inter- 
val, the  decrepit  cabin  of  Dr.  Bonvillain.  A  hound, 
hearing  the  sound  of  wheels,  raised  his  voice  mourn- 
fully. 

The  eastern  sky  showed  a  faint  tinge  of  gray  when 
Catherine  heard  the  plantation  bell  calling  the  laborers 
to  their  day's  toil.  Then,  presently,  across  the  bayou, 
she  saw  the  dim  light  of  the  quarters,  and,  a  moment 
later,  the  great,  open  gate  of  Esperance. 


VIII 

A  FTER  the  first  questions  in  regard  to  Catherine's 
•**'  visit  to  Malabar  —  questions  which  she  answered 
briefly  and  with  evident  reluctance  —  nothing  more 
was  said  on  the  subject,  and  having  lost  her  one  hope 
of  outside  companionship,  she  fell  into  a  fathomless 
loneliness.  "  Nothing  to  do!  No  way  of  passing  the 
time!  "  and  Fergus,  rightly  interpreting  her  need,  sug- 
gested one  occupation  after  another. 

"You  always  liked  flowers,"  he  said;  "supposing 
you  see  what  Uncle  Peter  can  do  with  your  garden. 
They  tell  me  he's  a  good  gardener." 

The  morning  was  clear  and  bracing,  and  Catherine, 
for  once  accepting  a  suggestion,  went  out  and  strolled 
in  her  garden.  She  walked  along,  watching  for  snakes 
and  caterpillars  (her  high,  French  heels  leaving  a  trail 
of  little  round  holes  in  the  soft  earth),  and  presently 
she  heard  the  sound  of  a  conch  shell.  Going  to  the 
fence,  she  looked  over  and  saw  several  luggers,  freshly 
painted  in  brilliant  blues  and  greens  and  covered  with 
flags  and  streamers,  gliding  through  the  open  bridge 
where  Uncle  Peter  stood  waving  with  unusual  friendli- 
ness. 

They  floated  up  to  the  little  landing  opposite  the 
gate  of  Esperance  and  the  owners,  laughing  and  chat- 
tering, disappeared  into  the  church, 

63 


64  THE  GRINDING 

Marcelline  came  into  the  garden  bringing  a  wrap 
which  Catherine  slipped  on  without  glancing  at  it. 
They  stood  for  a  time  watching  the  scene  on  the  oppo- 
site bank.  And  now  carts  filled  with  people  came  up 
the  road;  then  a  stream  of  pedestrians.  Of  these, 
nearly  all,  men,  women  and  children,  were  carrying 
their  shoes  in  their  hands,  and,  crossing  the  bridge, 
sat  down  on  the  grassy  roadside  to  put  them  on. 

Marcelline  respectfully  standing  a  little  back  of  her 
mistress,  announced  regretfully,  "  'Tain't  no  funeral. 
They  ain't  no  undertaker's  wagon." 

"  Why  do  they  do  that?  "  Catherine  asked  in  aston- 
ishment as  they  began  putting  on  their  shoes. 

"  'Case  they  wants  to  be  fine  in  the  chu'ch.  Hit's  a 
weddin'.  I  reckon  hit's  Ottinsia  Lirette's.  Unc'  Tim- 
othy Brim  tole  us  she  war  goin'  to  marry  one  er 
M'sieur  Poisson's  boys." 

"  But  why  did  they  take  off  their  shoes?  "  Cath- 
erine asked. 

"  They  never  tooken  'em  off;  they  didn't  put  'em  on, 
'case  it  hurts  too  bad  to  walk  in  good  shoes  when  you 
is  goin'  so  further." 

Another  boat  appeared,  more  gaily  painted  and  dec- 
orated (if  possible)  than  the  others,  and  someone  was 
playing  a  guitar  and  singing  in  a  clear,  thrilling  tenor. 
"  That  are  Jacques  Lirette,"  said  Marcelline.  "  Hit 
mout  be  his  weddin'." 

A  pang  shot  through  Catherine,  unreasonable  and 
impossible  to  explain.  Jacques  Lirette  was  not  of  her 


THE  GRINDING  65 

world;  she  could  never  know  him  —  she  did  not  really 
wish  to  know  him  —  and  yet,  for  no  reason,  she  felt 
one  degree  lonelier.  She  fell  to  imagining  what  might 
have  happened  under  other  circumstances.  If  she 
had  lived  in  other  days,  and  had  been  a  queen,  she 
would  have  had  that  beautiful  boy  with  the  soul- 
stirring  voice  as  her  page.  She  thought  of  Mary  Stuart 
and  Rizzio.  She  would  have  had  this  boy  educated 
and  he  might  have  become  her  knight  —  no,  he  should 
have  been  her  troubadour.  Ronald  might  have  been 
her  knight.  Ronald,  swift  of  foot,  with  unerring  eye 
and  muscles  of  steel. 

Presently  the  people  came  pouring  out  of  the  church; 
the  bride  in  her  white  dress  and  veil;  the  bridegroom, 
gawky  and  miserable  in  the  unaccustomed  splendor  of 
a  store  suit  and  white  collar;  the  crowd  of  friends 
in  all  they  could  muster  of  finery,  and,  conspicuous 
among  them  for  grace  and  beauty,  the  bride's  brother, 
Jacques.  The  luggers  were  loosed  and  starting  down 
stream,  when,  standing  at  the  prow  of  his  boat,  he 
looked  up  at  Catherine  and  with  a  graceful,  sweeping 
motion,  took  off  his  hat  and  smiled  at  her.  Smilingly, 
she  returned  his  salutation. 

"  He  are  mighty  bold  and  sassy,  that  Jacques  Lir- 
ette!  "  Marcelline  grumbled. 

Ronald's  voice,  close  beside  her,  asked:  "  Was  that 
impudent  Jacques  Lirette  bowing  to  you?  " 

"  I  suppose  so,"  Catherine  replied. 

"  Where  did  you  ever  meet  him?  " 


66  THE  GRINDING 

"  I  never  met  him,"  she  acknowledged,  feeling  unac- 
countably guilty.  "I  thought  every  one  bowed  to 
every  one  in  the  country." 

"They  do  when  they  meet  on  the  high  road,  but 
he  knows  better  than  to  bow  that  way  across  the 
bayou.  It  was  bold  and  familiar  of  him." 

She  felt  an  inclination  to  laugh  at  such  hair-split- 
ting. If  Jacques  Lirette  could  bow  to  her  on  the 
high  road,  why  must  he  not  bow  on  the  bayou?  It 
seemed  too  foolish;  but  she  merely  said,  "  I  thought 
you  were  at  the  sugar  house." 

"  I  was,  but  had  to  come  over  for  some  papers." 
They  walked  together  toward  the  gate.  Now  and  then 
he  steadied  her  as  she  stepped  cautiously,  fearing  to 
twist  her  ankle.  "  You  ought  to  have  some  sensible 
shoes  and  clothes,"  he  said.  "  Such  things  aren't  ap- 
propriate for  the  country." 

She  glanced  down  at  the  opera  cloak  in  which  she 
was  enveloped.  "  I  do  look  like  a  Mardi  Gras,"  she 
acknowledged.  It  seemed  to  her  he  might  have  said 
something  pleasant.  He  might  have  told  her  she  looked 
pretty,  anyway,  in  spite  of  her  fantastic  costume.  In 
other  days  he  would  have  done  so,  but  now  he  walked 
along  in  silence.  And  yet  she  felt  a  secret  amusement 
at  his  perverse  mood,  as  she  considered  it.  In  spite 
of  his  flaunting  independence,  his  ostentatious  pulling 
away  from  her  influence,  he  was  not  indifferent  to  her. 
He  was  jealous  of  that  Cajan  boy!  There  might  be 
some  amusement,  after  all,  she  reflected,  even  at  this 
last  end  of  the  world. 


THE  GRINDING  67 

"  Ronald,"  she  said  as  they  walked  toward  the  gate, 
"  I  was  building  castles  in  the  air.  I  was  thinking,  if 
I  had  lived  in  other  days  and  had  been  a  queen,  I'd 
have  chosen  you  to  be  my  knight." 

"Me!  "  he  ejaculated.  "You  would  have  chosen 
me?  "  His  face  flushed,  and  she  felt  a  twinge  of  con- 
science at  having  told  him  a  half-truth. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  you  were  born  to  be  a  knight." 
Her  velvety  eyes  looked  marvelously  soft  and  gentle 
as  she  smiled  up  at  him,  and  moved  by  an  overmaster- 
ing impulse,  he  stooped  and  kissed  her.  Instantly, 
he  regretted  the  act,  realizing  that  this  was  the  very 
mood  he  must  avoid  and  resolving  it  should  be  the 
last  time  he  forgot  his  determination. 

"  Excuse  the  intrusion,"  called  a  laughing  voice,  and 
Belle  Snively  leaned  out  of  the  great  red  car  from 
Gold  Mine  which,  unperceived,  had  glided  up  to  the 
gate. 

"  Belle  Snively!  "  Catherine  ejaculated  and  the  two 
were  clasped  in  each  others'  arms.  For  the  moment,  it 
seemed  to  Catherine  that  they  had  loved  each  other. 
Then,  as  Belle  looked  curiously  at  her,  and  Catherine 
became  conscious  of  her  scrutiny,  she  remembered  she 
had  never  liked  Belle  very  well;  that  she  had  chosen 
her  to  be  one  of  her  Maids  out  of  caprice  and  to  tease 
Angelina  Home  who  coveted  the  honor;  and  that  her 
prying,  intrusive  assistance  had  made  those  last  days 
in  the  city  doubly  hard. 

"  I  want  you  both  to  meet  my  friends,  Mrs.  and 
Miss  Blaise;  your  near  neighbors,"  Belle  ran  on,  and 


68  THE  GRINDING 

her  companions  murmured,  "  Pleased  to  meet  you," 
while  they  examined  Catherine  from  head  to  foot. 
"  I'm  here  just  for  the  week  end,"  Belle  explained, 
"  or  I'd  come  to  see  you.  But  we're  simply  rushed 
to  death.  We're  on  our  way  to  Bergerac  now.  Isn't 
this  just  the  most  adorable  country?  We're  going  to 
lunch  at  the  cunningest,  little,  old  hotel  with  Pierre 
Poisson —  he's  just  as  odd  and  original  as  he  can  be. 
Well,  bye-bye,  Catherine,  we'll  come  to  see  you  the 
next  time  I'm  out  here.  Oh,"  with  a  restraining  mo- 
tion to  the  chauffeur  as  the  car  gave  a  premonitory 
jerk,  "  Modesta  had  a  letter  from  Adolphus  Banks  the 
other  day.  He's  having  a  wonderful  time  in  Washing- 
ton, but  he  hasn't  forgotten  his  New  Orleans  friends. 
He  may  come  down  for  a  vacation  and  if  he  does,  he's 
coming  out  here  —  didn't  he  say  so,  Modesta?  " 

"  He  asked  if  he  could,"  she  replied,  the  while  her 
eyes  were  furtively  taking  account  of  Ronald's  fine 
physique,  his  haughtily  poised  head,  and  his  general 
air  of  distinction. 

"  He  asked  after  you,  Catherine,"  Belle  added,  but 
with  the  manner  of  one  who  is  keeping  something 
back.  "  He  wanted  to  know  how  you  were  getting 
along,  and  all  that,  you  know.  Well,  bye-bye." 

As  the  car  started,  Miss  Blaise  leaned  out  and  said, 
"  I'm  coming  to  see  you  very  soon,  Miss  Maine.  I 
won't  wait  for  Belle." 

Catherine  and  Ronald  stood  in  the  open  gate  looking 
after  them.  They  were  apparently  laughing,  and  Belle, 
looking  back,  waved  her  hand. 


THE  GRINDING  69 

"  She's  pretty,"  Ronald  observed.  "  You  may  find 
her  companionable." 

"  That  Blaise  girl?  Oh,  Ronald!  "  with  a  deprecat- 
ing little  laugh. 

"  She's  certainly  pretty,"  he  repeated. 

"  Pretty?  "  she  mocked,  secretly  annoyed.  Within 
her  own  soul,  she  could  not  deny  that  the  girl  was 
pretty;  perhaps  even  unusually  so.  But  she  who  had 
never  abdicated  and  had  never  brooked  a  rival,  was 
now  playing  the  part  she  had  assigned  to  Ronald.  She 
was  jealous.  "  Since  when  have  you  admired  paint 
so  much?  "  she  inquired. 

"  Since  I  saw  it  so  skillfully  used  by  Miss  Blaise; 
if,  as  you  seem  to  imply,  she  was  painted." 

"  'If,' "  Catherine  repeated,  "  didn't  you  see  it?  " 

"  I  saw  she  was  quite  fresh  and  rosy,  and  altogether 
a  charmingly  innocent-looking  young  girl." 

"  Doubtless,  a  reigning  belle  in  the  city  of  Ber- 
gerac,"  Catherine  agreed. 

"  Doubtless.    You  two  will  be  rivals  — " 

"  I  think  not,"  she  retorted.  "  I  hardly  think  that  an 
overseer's  daughter  and  I  are  very  likely  to  be  rivals." 

"  Her  father  is  the  owner  of  Gold  Mine  —  not  the 
overseer,"  Ronald  corrected.  "  You  both  have  youth 
and  beauty  — " 

But  Catherine  was  not  to  be  so  easily  placated. 
"  You  forget,"  she  reminded  him,  "  that  her  grand- 
father was  overseer  at  Esperance  and  stole  half  of  the 
plantation  —  or  am  I  mistaken?  Wasn't  it  her  grand- 
father? " 


70  THE  GRINDING 

"  If  the  servants'  gossip  is  correct,"  he  replied,  "  it 
was  her  grandfather  who  beat  your  grandfather  at  a 
game  of  cards  and  won  half  of  Esperance.  But  that 
is  rather  ancient  history,  isn't  it?  If  you  have  no 
more  recent  grievance  than  that — "  He  stopped. 

"  I  haven't,"  she  observed  with  careful  indifference, 
"  and  perhaps  you  are  right.  Perhaps  I  may  learn  to 
admire  the  overseer's  daughter  as  much  as  you  do  — " 

"  Or  perhaps  as  much  as  if  her  father  were  a  Cajan 
fisherman?  "  he  suggested.  It  was  a  chance  shot,  but 
it  struck  home. 

"  Yes,"  she  said  over  her  shoulder  as  she  walked 
haughtily  away,  "  if  he  is  honest.  I  still  prefer  honest 
people  to  thieves." 


IX 

IF  Ronald  had  shown  any  sign  of  penitence  for  his 
part  of  the  quarrel,  Catherine  would  have  met  him 
half  way,  for,  in  her  intense  loneliness  and  need  of 
companionship,  she  preferred  peace  to  war.  But 
Ronald  had  been  too  deeply  and  too  often  wounded  to 
find  it  easy  to  forgive.  Furthermore,  the  very  fact 
that  he  loved  her  with  the  devotion  of  a  lifetime,  made 
it  impossible  for  him  to  overlook  her  facile  vanity 
that  was  willing  to  accept  homage  from  every  chance 
comer.  Haughty  and  exclusive  in  her  social  inter- 
course, she  had  the  true  siren  instinct  which  tried  to 
enslave  others  while  holding  herself  absolutely  free. 
Less  easily  aroused  than  she,  he  was  slower  to  forgive, 
and  the  pride  inherited  from  a  long  line  of  ancestors 
showed  in  his  face  and  bearing.  Inordinately  proud 
herself,  she  felt  something  like  fear  of  his  nature  which 
added  to  all  its  other  sources  the  unyielding  pride  of 
poverty.  Feeling  that  no  one  but  Fergus  cared  for 
her  now,  she  found  solace  in  scorning  and  hating  "  the 
Blaise  girl  "  whole-heartedly. 

The  atmosphere  was  in  this  turbid  state  when,  one 
day,  Miss  Blaise,  fair  as  a  lily,  and  dressed  in  the 
most  stylish  of  riding  habits,  rode  up  to  the  gate  of 
Esperance,  and  Ronald,  appearing  from  somewhere, 

71 


72  THE  GRINDING 

walked  along  the  driveway  with  his  hand  on  her 
horse's  shoulder.  Catherine  saw  the  flash  of  his  white 
teeth  as  he  looked  smilingly  up  at  the  girl's  face  and 
without  considering  the  unwisdom  of  the  act,  flew  up- 
stairs and  hid.  From  where  she  was  crouching  in 
the  semi-darkness,  she  heard  their  voices  —  Miss 
Blaise's,  thin,  nasal,  the  proverbial  "  American  voice  "; 
Ronald's,  mellow  and  cultured. 

"And  he  can  like  a  girl  with  a  voice  like  that!  " 
Catherine  thought  scornfully. 

Presently  there  was  an  opening  and  shutting  of  doors 
as  Marcelline  made  her  slow  way  from  room  to  room. 
Toilsomely,  she  climbed  the  stairs,  and  Catherine  felt 
the  terror  that  assails  little  children  when  they  are 
playing  hide  and  seek. 

"  She  sha'n't  find  me,"  she  thought,  and  crouched 
lower  behind  the  boxes  that  half  filled  the  closet. 

The  door  opened  and  Marcelline's  face  peered  in, 
screwed  up  to  enable  her  to  penetrate  the  dark  recesses; 
finally  she  turned  away  and  Catherine  heaved  a  sigh 
of  relief.  After  a  time,  she  knew  by  the  sounds  that 
the  two  were  on  their  way  to  the  gate;  so,  stealing  from 
her  hiding  place  she  ran  softly  down  stairs  where,  to 
her  discomfiture,  she  found  Marcelline  waiting  in  the 
hall. 

"  She  say  she  mighty  sorry  you  wa'n't  to  home," 
the  old  woman  reported,  then,  glancing  at  the  top  of 
her  mistress's  head,  she  added,  "  I  ben  layin'  off  to 
make  Pidgeon  cobweb  that  upstairs  dark  closet  too  long 
to  talk  about." 


THE  GRINDING  73 

Involuntarily,  Catherine  raised  her  hand  to  the  top 
of  her  head  (which  was  draped  with  a  cobweb  mantilla) 
and  Marcelline,  apparently  ignoring  the  gesture,  turned 
and  walked  away  with  the  erect  and  stately  carriage  of 
a  peasant  who,  all  her  life,  has  borne  burdens  on  her 
head.  She  perceived  her  mistress's  dislike  of  Modesta 
Blaise  and  felt  a  sympathy  she  dared  not  express. 

The  bleak,  wintry  weather  continued,  and  Catherine, 
insufficiently  clad,  suffered  from  a  succession  of  colds. 
Her  lack  of  executive  ability  was  so  manifest  that  only 
Fergus  could  be  blind  to  it;  but,  while  Ronald  saw 
and  deplored  it,  he  often  longed  to  take  her  in  his 
arms  and  shield  her  from  her  own  follies.  But  this 
mood  he  was  careful  never  to  betray. 

"  She  should  provide  herself  with  proper  clothing," 
he  said  to  Fergus  one  day  after  she  had  sneezed  miser- 
ably all  through  dinner. 

"  She  can't  get  '  proper  clothing  ',"  Fergus  reminded 
him. 

"  Then  she  should  marry  her  successful  and  disin- 
terested suitor,  Adolphus  Banks." 

"  Do  you  wish  her  to  do  so?  "  Fergus  asked. 

"  Yes,"  Ronald  answered  after  a  brief  hesitation, 
"  I  wish  she  would."  And  he  did  not  explain  that, 
until  she  was  actually  married  he  could  never  fully  rid 
himself  of  a  feeling  of  suspense  in  regard  to  her. 

"  Do  you  think  he  would  make  her  a  good  hus- 
band? " 

"  No." 

"  Then  why  do  you  wish  her  to  marry  him?  " 


74  THE  GRINDING 

They  looked  a  moment  at  each  other  and  then  Ron- 
ald said,  "  I  confess,  it  is  a  selfish  reason." 

"  I  see,"  said  Fergus  and  resumed  his  writing  (they 
were  in  their  dingy  little  office  at  the  sugar  house); 
presently  he  paused  and  said,  "  I  believe  you  are  crip- 
pling your  future  by  remaining  here." 

"  For  the  present,"  Ronald  replied,  "  I  have  no 
future  except  with  you.  I  wish  no  other." 

"And  my  duty  keeps  me  here,"  Fergus  observed. 
"  It  is  a  debt  of  honor  I  owe  to  my  father  to  take 
care  of  Catherine."  He  said  no  more,  but  as  he  spoke, 
it  occurred  to  Ronald  that  he  too  owed  a  debt  of 
honor  and  that  he  was  not  discharging  it  by  remaining 
in  his  present  attitude  of  mind.  He  must  regain  the 
moral  balance  which  he  had  temporarily  lost. 

While  this  conversation  was  taking  place,  Catherine 
was  writing  a  letter  to  Adolphus  Banks.  She  had 
begun  a  dozen  and  torn  them  up.  What  should  she 
say?  She  could  not  acknowledge  that  she  had  ac- 
cepted him  merely  to  annoy  Ronald,  neither  (it  seemed 
to  her)  could  she  confess  that,  stung  by  his  silence, 
she  had  drifted,  because,  for  her,  he  no  longer  existed. 
Seated  in  a  corner  of  the  high-backed  wooden  settle 
close  to  the  fire,  yet  shivering  with  cold,  she  read- 
justed her  writing  materials  and  thoughtfully  bit  the 
end  of  her  penholder. 

Half  hidden  behind  the  load  of  wood  he  held  clasped 
in  both  arms,  Pidgeon  entered.  With  a  jerk  of  the 
head,  he  tossed  his  cap  on  to  the  floor  and,  tip-toeing 
from  the  dining-room  door,  dropped  the  wood  with  a 


THE  GRINDING  75 

thunderous  noise  into  the  box  beside  the  fireplace; 
then,  straightening  himself,  brushed  the  dust  from  his 
sleeves  and  said,  "  Will  I  chunk  the  fire  and  put  on  a 
log,  Miss  Catrine?  " 

She  regarded  his  short,  square  figure  which  seemed 
to  grow  bunchier  as  the  days  went  by,  and  noticed 
how  frozen  his  hands  looked.  A  few  weeks  ago,  before 
she  herself  had  known  what  it  was  to  feel  pinched  with 
cold,  she  would  not  have  noticed  his  suffering.  "  Yes, 
Pidgeon,"  she  said,  "  you  may  as  well.  It's  very  cold, 
isn't  it?  Are  you  cold?  " 

"  Yas'm,  Miss  Catrine,"  he  replied,  standing  at  at- 
tention with  the  poker  in  his  hand,  "  I  sure  is." 

"  Are  you  warmly  enough  dressed?  " 

"No,  Ma'am,  I  isn't;  but  I  has  on  everything  they 
is.  I  has  on  two  coats  an'  three  pairs  of  pants.  I  has 
on  mines,  an'  Hezekiah's  an'  Theophiles',  an'  they  is 
stayin'  in  bed  whiles  I  wuks." 

"  Oh,"  she  said  gently,  "  That's  hard." 

"  Yas'm,"  he  agreed  cheerfully,  "  but  my  maw  say 
we  cain't  expec'  to  walk  on  flower  beds  of  ease;  an' 
neither  we  cain't,  Miss  Catrine." 

"  Were  you  christened,  Pidgeon?  "  she  asked.  "  Is 
it  your  real  name?  " 

"  No,  Ma'am,"  he  replied  emphatically,  standing 
with  chest  and  stomach  rounded  out  like  the  breast  of 
a  pouter  pidgeon,  "  my  for  true  name  are  Hilerion 
Aurestille  Pichoff,  but  they  calls  me  Pidgeon  for  short." 

"  Oh,"  said  Catherine  and  resumed  her  writing. 

He  "  chunked "  the  fire,  then,  rising  to  his  feet, 


76  THE  GRINDING 

announced  as  if  he  had  just  learned  the  fact,  "  Miss 
Catrine,  M'sieur  Jacques  Lirette  have  brang  you  some 
bird,  an'  he  say,  mout  he  see  you  a  minute." 

She  was  saved  the  necessity  of  answering,  for 
Jacques  now  spoke  from  the  dining  room  door.  "  Mees 
Catrine,"  he  said,  coming  into  the  hall,  "  Mr.  Fergus 
tole  me  you  would  like  some  bird.  I  shot  some,  soon 
this  mornin'  for  you,  an'  here  they  is."  He  held  up  a 
bunch  of  birds  for  her  to  see,  then,  with  an  authorita- 
tive gesture,  motioned  Pidgeon  to  carry  them  away. 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  she  said.  "  It  must  have  been 
cold  so  early  in  the  morning." 

"Cold,  yes;"  he  replied,  "but  beautiful.  There 
were  such  a  frost,  Mees  Catrine,  my  pirogue  cut 
through  the  hice.  An'  deep  in  the  swamp,  there  were 
some  pink  flower,  all  in  hice,  like  glass.  I  wished  I 
could  'ave  bring  them  to  you." 

She  looked  up  at  the  beautiful  boy  standing  there  in 
the  firelight,  his  face  radiant  at  the  thought  of  the 
ice-encased  flowers.  Seen  from  a  distance,  he  had 
seemed  to  her  the  most  graceful  creature  she  had  ever 
seen,  but,  at  the  same  time,  she  suspected  that  he  would 
not  bear  nearer  inspection.  Now,  at  close  range,  she 
was  almost  disconcerted  by  his  lustrous  eyes,  the  rich, 
soft  coloring  of  hair  and  skin,  the  purity  and  delicacy 
of  feature.  Where  did  he  get  such  beauty,  she  won- 
dered. And  looking  up  at  him,  and  listening  to  his 
soft,  foreign  voice,  she  endowed  him  with  all  the  poetry 
and  tragedy  of  his  race:  the  Acadians  —  Evangeline's 
people.  These  thoughts  flashed  through  her  mind, 


THE  GRINDING  77 

and,  meanwhile,  he  stood,  with  the  unembarrassed  ease 
and  grace  of  the  Creole,  waiting  to  be  dismissed  or  re- 
tained at  her  pleasure.  She  chose  the  latter. 

"  They  were  in  a  case  of  ice,  did  you  say?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  replied,  "  an'  they  shined  like  —  like— " 
(He  searched  his  mind  for  a  comparison.)  "like  the 
clouds  when  the  sun  are  risin'." 

"  What  kind  of  flowers  were  they?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  answered  musingly.  "  I  never 
seen  none  like  them  before." 

(Oh,  Catherine,  Catherine,  what  should  you  have 
thought  of  those  double  negatives  if  uttered  by  Mod- 
esta  Blaise?  Coming  from  him,  they  seemed  only 
quaint  and  foreign.)  "  I'd  love  to  see  them,"  she  ex- 
claimed impulsively. 

After  an  imperceptible  hesitation,  in  which  his  eyes 
searched  her  face,  he  went  on,  "  They  was  growin'  to 
the  yuther  aidge  of  the  swamp,  an'  I  push  my  pirogue 
through  a  long,  narrer  stream,  like  a  bayou,  in  the 
hiddenes'  heart  of  the  swamp,  where  the  trees  bend 
over  an'  the  green  light  shine  soft  an'  dim  like  they 
was  a  mist,  an'  right  there,  when  I  wan't  lookin'  fer 
flowers,  there  was  the  blossoms,  shinin'  through  the 
hice."  His  face  wore  an  inspired  expression  as  he  re- 
called the  scene,  and  watching  him,  she  unconsciously 
reflected  his  look.  "  An'  there  was  birds'  nesses,"  he 
went  on. 

"  What  kind  of  birds?  "  she  asked,  moving  a  little  so 
as  to  look  at  him  more  at  her  ease.  The  truth  was, 
her  cold  had  given  her  a  stiff  neck,  but  the  boy,  not 


78  THE  GRINDING 

knowing  this,  and  taking  her  change  of  position  as  a 
tacit  invitation,  seated  himself  beside  her.  She  felt 
an  instant's  constraint  at  the  situation  —  that  he,  the 
fisherman's  boy,  should  be  sitting  beside  her,  Catherine 
Maine, —  then,  yielding  to  his  charm,  she  gave  herself 
up  to  the  pleasure  of  having  someone  to  talk  to.  Some- 
one who  was  neither  admonishing  nor  scolding  her,  who 
was  young  and  attractive.  Fergus  was  away  all  day 
and  absorbed  in  his  writing  in  the  evening;  Ronald 
was  always  constrained  with  her;  Miss  Victorine,  Mar- 
celline, —  these  were  the  dramatis  personse  of  her  pres- 
ent life.  Why  should  she  not  talk  with  this 
chance  comer?  It  was  a  moment's  diversion.  A  law 
to  herself,  she  dismissed  the  fear  of  possible  ill  con- 
sequences and  gave  herself  up  to  the  pleasure  of  the 
moment. 

"  I  reckon  you'd  love  them  swamps,"  he  said,  lean- 
ing back  in  the  firelight  as  gracefully  carefree  as  the 
immortal  gods.  "  The  pirogue  move  along  without 
makin'  no  noise  an'  you  hears  the-  birds  a-callin'. 
Everything's  pretty  what  God  have  made;  even  the 
snakes.  Tain't  their  fault  they  is  snakes;  they  cain't 
help  it;  an'  they  is  pretty  too  if  you  keeps  from  hatin' 
them.  I  wonder  why  people  hates  anything  what 
lives,"  he  mused,  looking  at  the  fire.  "  But  I  reckon 
everybody  loves  flowers  —  an'  some  folks  seems  just 
like  flowers.  You  cain't  help  lovin'  them.  It  ain't 
no  use  tryin'."  He  raised  his  eyes  from  the  fire  and 
regarded  her,  with  a  soft,  caressing  look.  "And 
birds,"  he  said,  "  is  like  that.  You  loves  them,  an'  yet 


THE  GRINDING  79 

you  kills  them  —  same  as  you  picks  a  flower  an'  lets 
it  wither." 

"  You  ought  not  to  kill  them  if  you  feel  that  way," 
she  commented.  "  It's  too  painful." 

"  It  didn't  pain  me  none,"  he  replied.  "  I  killed 
them  same's  I'd  pick  them  flower  fer  you.  It  seem 
like  they  belong  to  you  an'  they  had  a  right  to  die, 
ef  you  want  them." 

She  looked  dreamily  into  the  fire.  Lulled  by  the 
music  of  his  voice,  she  scarcely  followed  his  words 
until  she  was  roused  by  a  change  of  tone.  With  a 
rippling  laugh,  as  merry  as  a  child's  he  said,  "  An'  you 
doesn't  even  know  how  to  cook  them!  When  is  you 
goin'  to  learn?  Women  has  to  work  same's  men,  out 
in  the  kentry.  I'm  skeered  your  ole  man'll  beat  you 
good  an'  plenty,  when  you  gits  married." 

"  What?  "  she  ejaculated,  scarcely  crediting  her  hear- 
ing. 

"  Yes,"  he  continued  meditatively,  "  when  girls  is 
triflin',  it  goes  hard  when  they  gits  married.  'Tain't 
good  to  be  too  lazy.  But,"  returning  to  his  soft,  allur- 
ing tone,  "  I  reckon  some  folks  ain't  made  to  work  no 
more  than  a  mockin'-bird  are  made  to  haul  a  plow." 
He  smiled  at  her  with  that  brilliant,  lovable  look.  He 
had  meant  no  harm.  His  beauty  disarmed  her. 

The  door  opened  and  Ronald  came  in  bringing  a 
gust  of  cold  air  and  a  dash  of  rain  from  out  of  doors. 
As  he  came  up  the  walk,  his  head  bent  to  shield  him- 
self from  the  storm,  he  was  thinking  of  what  he  would 
say  to  Catherine  —  what  he  had  come  home  early  to 


80  THE  GRINDING 

say.  He  would  forgive  the  past  —  forget  it  as  far  as 
was  consistent  with  safety.  There  should  be  peace  and 
not  quarreling  in  the  home.  He  would  forgive  the 
public  affront  she  had  put  upon  him  by  accepting 
Adolphus  Banks.  He  would  even  believe  that  she  had 
done  it  thoughtlessly  without  fully  understanding  the 
circumstances  —  poor,  headstrong  child  that  she  was. 
He  knew  that  she  was  keenly  disappointed  at  his  re- 
fusal to  stay  and  see  her  as  queen.  And  she  had 
never  been  able  to  bear  disappointment,  or  pain  of 
any  kind.  And  he  would  accept  the  position  of  friend 
—  never  again  of  lover  —  since  that  was  all  she  could 
give  him. 

Then  he  opened  the  door,  and  a  wave  of  indignation 
swept  over  him  as  he  saw  her  sitting  there  in  the 
firelight  with  the  Cajan  boy  beside  her.  So  this  was 
what  she  was  doing  while  Fergus  and  he  toiled  in  the 
frost  and  rain!  Dawdling  away  her  time  with  this 
fisherman's  boy,  whose  beauty  had  attracted  her  notice. 
It  was  unbelievable!  Now  had  come  the  supreme 
test.  Either  he  must  be  strong  enough  to  control  him- 
self or  he  must  give  up  what  he  considered  his  duty, 
and  abandon  Fergus  in  his  struggle  for  a  livelihood. 

With  perfect  deliberation,  he  hung  up  his  hat  and 
overcoat,  and  came  forward  to  the  fire. 

Catherine  searched  his  face  for  a  trace  of  the  anger 
which  she  expected,  but  there  was  no  sign  of  it  as  he 
stretched  out  his  hands  to  the  blaze  and  said,  "  It's 
penetratingly  cold.  Did  you  come  in  your  boat, 
Lirette?  " 


THE  GRINDING  81 

"  No,  Mr.  Ronal',"  the  boy  replied,  rising  and  speak- 
ing deferentially.  "  I  come  on  my  pony." 

Catherine  also  rose,  and  saying,  "  I  have  been  much 
interested  in  what  you  told  me  of  the  swamps,"  with- 
drew to  her  room.  Here  she  stood  listening  to  their 
voices.  What  were  they  talking  so  long  about,  she 
wondered.  She  could  not  distinguish  their  words. 
Could  it  be  that  Ronald  was  actually  indifferent  to 
what  she  had  done?  She  wished  he  had  been  angry. 

She  thought  of  their  conversation  when  she  told  him 
that  he  should  have  been  her  knight.  Her  knight? 
No!  Modesta  Blaise's  knight.  And  Jacques  Lirette 
was  to  have  been  her  troubadour.  No !  Her  fool  who 
had  come  and  spoken  cruel  truths  to  her. 


X 

THAT  evening  Fergus  remonstrated  with  Catherine. 
They  were  sitting  together  at  a  table  drawn  close 
to  the  hall  fireplace.  He  was  writing,  she  was  playing 
solitaire.  It  was  cold;  that  bitter,  penetrating  cold  of 
a  semi-tropical  climate.  Laying  down  her  cards,  she 
wrapped  her  hands  in  her  chiffon  scarf  and  watched 
Fergus.  She  wished  she  could  absorb  herself  in  writ- 
ing; or  that  she  were  free  to  go  around  as  Ronald  did. 
Certainly  if  she  were,  she  would  not  seek  companion- 
ship among  those  deadly-dull  Blaises  at  Gold  Mine. 
At  the  Settlement,  perhaps ;  it  might  be  quaint  and  in- 
teresting, just  to  see  how  such  people  lived.  She 
wished  she  could  go  around  and  peep  into  windows 
and  see  what  people  were  doing  to  pass  the  time;  or 
disguise  herself  and  prowl  around  like  Haroun-al- 
Raschid.  Or  have  a  magic  carpet  on  which  she  could 
sail  away  anywhere  she  liked.  But  she'd  have  to  have 
a  cap  of  darkness  to  make  herself  invisible,  otherwise, 
people  would  see  that  queer,  square  thing  flying  over- 
head and  shoot  at  it,  or  gather  in  crowds  to  watch 
her  when  she  landed.  That  idea  was  so  unpleasant 
that  she  decided  she'd  rather  have  a  wishing  ring  than 
a  magic  carpet.  Then  she  would  make  herself  in- 

82 


THE  GRINDING  83 

visible,  and  wish  she  were  —  where  should  she  wish  to 
go  first? 

She  had  reached  this  point  in  her  reflections,  when 
Fergus  looked  up  from  his  writing,  disturbed  by  the 
rattling  of  the  casement.  Through  the  uncurtained 
window,  he  could  see  the  garden  bathed  in  brilliant 
moonlight.  A  "  black  frost  "  was  spreading  devasta- 
tion and  his  wan  face  looked  even  more  than  usually 
anxious.  "  I  hope  it  won't  hurt  the  cane,"  he  said,  not 
knowing  that,  at  this  season,  after  the  grinding  and 
before  the  new  crop  had  sprouted,  the  frost  would  do 
no  harm. 

The  life  of  the  sugar  planter  is  a  perpetual  oscilla- 
tion between  hope  and  fear.  If  the  sugar  cane  —  the 
staple  product  of  that  part  of  Louisiana  —  succeeds,  he 
is  well  paid  for  his  eleven  months  of  toil  and  anxiety; 
but,  in  addition  to  the  farmer's  inborn  distrust  of 
providence  and  certainty  that  the  weather  is  on  the 
point  of  doing  the  wrong  thing,  the  sugar  planter  has 
the  constant  fear  of  political  complications  that  will 
rob  him  of  his  legitimate  profits. 

Catherine  looked  across  at  him  and  her  heart  swelled 
within  her.  So  refined,  so  gentle;  plain  but  so  lovable, 
she  thought.  So  emphatically  a  city  man  and  exiled  to 
this  remote  country.  For  the  thousandth  time  she 
wondered  if  there  were  no  other  way  of  retrieving  their 
fortunes  than  by  staying  in  this  desolate  place  where 
all  the  forces  of  nature  seemed  hostile. 

"  Fergus,"  she  said,  "  what  is  it  you're  writing?  " 

He  looked  at  her  with  a  deprecating  expression  in 


84  THE  GRINDING 

his  brown  eyes.  "I  suppose  I'm  foolish,"  he  said, 
"  but  I'm  trying  to  rewrite  some  of  my  manuscript 
from  memory." 

"  And  what  are  those  little  pictures?  "  she  asked, 
leaning  forward  to  look  at  the  page  upside  down. 
"  That  looks  like  a  rose." 

"  Oh,"  he  exclaimed  with  a  smile,  "  do  you  recog- 
nize it?  Then  I  am  more  successful  than  I  feared." 

"  I  thought  your  book  was  about  coins.  Is  it  bot- 
any? " 

"  Oh,  no.    Do  you  recognize  this  other  picture?  " 

"  A  bird,  isn't  it?  " 

"  No."  He  turned  the  manuscript  around  for  her 
to  see,  "  What  does  it  look  like?  " 

"  Oh,  I  see.  It's  a  fly.  I  didn't  know  you  could 
draw  so  well." 

"  It's  a  honey-fly:  a  bee." 

"  Botany  and  zoology!  "  she  exclaimed.  "  How  in- 
teresting that  is,  Fergus.  You're  perfectly  wonderful 
to  be  writing  that." 

"  No,  no,  it  isn't  botany  or  zoology,"  he  explained. 
"  It's  on  numismatics,  and  the  bee  was  the  emblem  of 
the  coins  of  Ephesus,  and  the  rose  of  those  of  Rhodes." 

"  How  interesting!  "  she  said,  but  with  flagging  en- 
thusiasm. "  Did  you  ever  receive  that  coin  of  Mith- 
ridates  you  ordered?  " 

"Yes;  the  day  after  the  failure."  He  turned  the 
manuscript  back  and  resumed  his  writing.  Evidently, 
it  was  painful  to  him  to  think  of  the  lost  collection. 
Perhaps  he  regretted  the  sums  spent  in  gathering  it 


THE  GRINDING  85 

together.  It  had  been  his  pet  hobby;  even  dearer  to 
him  than  his  rare  woodcuts. 

He  took  off  his  glasses,  breathed  on  them  and  wip- 
ing them  carefully,  held  them  up  to  the  light  to  see  if 
they  were  clear,  then  put  them  on  and  smiled  at  her. 
"  I  thought  they  were  misty,"  he  said,  "  but  I  believe 
it's  the  poor  light."  After  a  pause,  in  which  he  glanced 
back  at  the  page  he  had  just  finished,  he  said,  "  Cathie, 
Ronald  told  Jacques  Lirette  you  were  engaged." 

Blushing  furiously,  she  asked,  "  What  right  had  he 
to  do  that?  " 

"  The  right  of  affection,"  he  answered  slowly. 

"  '  Affection  '!  "  she  repeated  scornfully.  "  Lots  of 
affection  he  has  for  me!  "  and  she  laughed  bitterly. 

"  Yes,  he  has  '  lots  of  affection '  for  you,"  Fergus 
repeated,  "  and  because  he  feared  you  were  drifting  into 
a  dangerous  situation,  he  interfered." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me,"  she  demanded,  "  that  he 
didn't  do  that  out  of  temper?  He  came  prancing  in 
out  of  the  rain  and  marched  up  and  told  that  boy  I 
was  engaged!  Did  you  ever  hear  anything  as  crude 
as  that?  " 

"  It  wasn't  quite  that  way,"  Fergus  replied.  "  He 
had  occasion  to  ask  the  boy  to  attend  to  some  matters 
for  us  at  Bergerac  and,  in  the  course  of  the  conversa- 
tion, casually  mentioned  that  you  were  engaged." 

"  Of  all  preposterous  things,"  she  murmured,  lean- 
ing her  elbows  on  the  table  and  burying  her  face  in 
her  scarf.  "  In  the  course  of  a  business  conversation 
with  a  stranger  he  tells  him  I  am  engaged!  I'd  like 


86  THE  GRINDING 

to  know  what  business  it  was  of  Jacques  Lirette's." 

"  Ronald  feared  he  might  make  it  his  business. 
That  he  might  misinterpret  your  —  condescension  " 
(he  hesitated  and  searched  for  the  word)  "  and  become 
presumptuous." 

"What  crazy  nonsense!  "  she  ejaculated,  emerging 
from  behind  the  scarf.  "  Not  yours,  Fergus,  but  Ron- 
old's.  He  might  know  I  could  manage  my  own  affairs 
without  any  interference  from  him.  He's  cross  because 
I  don't  want  to  know  that  horrid  Blaise  girl  that  he 
admires  so  much.  Why,  Fergus,  she's  just  an  ordi- 
nary overseer's  daughter,  with  just  a  little  prettiness 
(this  she  acknowledged  grudgingly) .  We'd  never  have 
known  of  her  existence,  under  ordinary  circumstances, 
and  here's  Ronald  behaving  as  if  she  were  Mary  Queen 
of  Scots  herself.  She's  a  billion  times  commoner  than 
Jacques  Lirette.  He  doesn't  pretend  to  be  anything 
but  a  fisherman's  boy;  and  she  puts  on  the  airs  of  a 
Rockefeller,  with  her  stolen  money.  I  told  Ronald  — " 

"  I  know,"  Fergus  gently  interrupted,  reaching  across 
the  table  to  clasp  her  ice-cold  fingers,  "  and  when  once 
we  get  at  cross  purposes  it's  hard  to  become  recon- 
ciled. We  see  everything  from  opposite  angles.  But 
you're  misjudging  Ronald.  It  grieves  him  to  see  you 
insufficiently  clad  and  with  shabby,  inappropriate 
shoes." 

"  Oh,  he's  been  discussing  my  wardrobe,  has  he?  " 
she  cried  hotly.  "  It's  true,  I  can't  be  as  magnificent 
as  that  Blaise  girl.  She  outshines  the  Queen  of 
Sheba." 


THE  GRINDING  87 

"  We  mustn't  quarrel,  Cathie  dear,"  he  remonstrated 
in  his  gentle  tone,  ignoring  her  fling  at  Modesta; 
"  there  isn't  room  in  our  home  for  anger  and  hatred, 
is  there,  little  sister?  " 

"  Oh,  Fergus,"  she  exclaimed,  "  you  are  so  good  and 
we  are  so  bad.  I  will  try  for  your  sake  to  be  friends 
with  Ronald  —  not  that  he  deserves  it." 

When  she  had  gone  to  her  room,  she  looked  through 
her  wardrobe.  With  the  exception  of  the  one  tailored 
suit  which  she  had  worn  from  the  city,  there  were  no 
street  dresses;  nothing,  in  fact,  but  the  discarded  even- 
ing gowns,  wraps,  and  so  on,  of  the  year  before.  Dis- 
missing from  her  mind  a  fleeting  anger  against  those 
who  must  have  appropriated  this  year's  wardrobe,  she 
determined  to  consult  Marcelline  on  the  subject  of  a 
dressmaker;  for,  truth  to  tell,  it  hurt  her  keenly  to  be 
shabbily  dressed.  She  had  always  been  over-fastid- 
ious, and  had  doubtless  prided  herself  on  that  fact. 

The  old  woman  was  stirring  something  in  a  great 
iron  pot  as  Catherine  appeared  at  the  kitchen  door  the 
following  morning,  a  rose-colored  chiffon  hanging  over 
one  arm  and  trailing  on  the  floor. 

"  Marcelline,"  she  began,  "  I've  grown  so  thin  my 
clothes  wrap  twice  around  me." 

"  Yas'm,"  Marcelline  politely  agreed,  "  me  an'  Sis 
Rose  was  makin'  mirations  'bout  that,  no  longer  ago'n 
yestiddy.  You  ain't  nothin'  but  a  little  frame." 

"  Can  I  get  this  made  over,  out  here,  do  you  think? 
How  do  people  get  things  in  the  country?  " 

"  Miss  Delicia  are  right  handy." 


88  THE  GRINDING 

"Miss  Delicia!  How  does  she  know  anything 
about  styles  —  way  out  here?  " 

"  Styles?  "  Marcelline  rested  her  hands  on  her  pon- 
derous hips  and  gazed  doubtfully  at  Catherine. 
"  She'd  oughter  know,"  she  said. 

"  And  you  think  she  could  make  this  over?  "  Cath- 
erine repeated. 

"  God  willin',  she'll  fix  it  all  right,"  Marcelline  re- 
plied. "  An'  as  fur  style,  everything  is  style  out  here. 
You  watch  them  ladies  goin'  into  the  chu'ch;  no  two  is 
dress  alike  —  but  all  is  in  style." 

And  so  it  came  about  that  Catherine  went  to  see 
Miss  Delicia.  As  she  laid  her  hand  on  the  gate  she 
discovered  the  priest's  portly  form  on  the  gallery.  He 
rose  at  once  and  came  down  the  path  to  meet  her,  his 
round,  jovial  face  wreathed  in  welcoming  smiles. 

"  It  is  a  pleasure  to  welcome  you,  Mees  Catrine,"  he 
said,  offering  her  a  chair  on  the  sheltered  gallery.  "  I 
have  talk'  very  often  with  Mr.  Maine  an'  Mr.  RonaP, 
an'  I  have  promise'  myself  the  pleasure  to  pay  my 
respect  very  soon  at  Esperance.  It  is  my  seester  you 
desire  to  see?  O-h,  Delicia!  Mees  Catrine  desire  to 
spik  with  you." 

There  was  a  sound  of  scurrying  inside  the  house  and, 
a  moment  later,  a  shrill  voice  answered  from  the  ex- 
treme rear. 

"  I  fear  Miss  Delicia  is  busy,"  said  Catherine,  re- 
calling the  note  of  exasperation  in  the  voice. 

"  Ah,  bah,"  he  replied  airily.  "  You  figure  that  to 
yourself  from  her  voice.  She  'ave  the  himpatient 


THE  GRINDING  89 

voice,  my  seester  Delicia,  but  loud  hollering  don't  mean 
nothing  in  this  house." 

"  Then  I  will  wait,"  said  Catherine,  seating  herself. 
"  What  lovely  ferns  you  have,"  lifting  a  delicate,  lace- 
like  leaf.  "  How  exquisite  it  is.  Of  what  variety  is 
it?" 

"  Not  mine,"  he  disclaimed.  "  I  ignore  the  house 
plant.  They  belong  to  my  seester.  For  me,  I  prefer 
the  vegetable  to  flower.  An  onion,  for  example  is  beau- 
tiful, and—" 

A  hot  tongue  licked  her  hand  and  with  a  violent 
start  she  turned,  expecting  to  see  a  dog.  A  pig  stood 
beside  her  gazing  up  into  her  face.  She  recoiled  with 
a  startled  cry,  and  Pere  Ignace  called,  "  Va-t-en,  Tob- 
ias! "  Then,  in  a  tone  of  surprise,  "  You  do  not  like 
the  pigs?  " 

"  I  was  never  so  near  one  before,"  she  answered, 
watching  the  creature  distrustfully. 

"  They  are  very  intelligent,"  he  assured  her,  "  and 
very  affectionate.  Now  I  will  mek  him  beg  pardon 
for  the  liberty  of  embracing  your  hand.  Ask  pardon 
at  Mees  Catrine,  Tobias,"  he  admonished. 

Tobias  bent  his  front  legs  and  knelt  after  a  fashion. 
Pere  Ignace  reached  among  the  flower  pots  and  found 
a  chip  of  wood  with  which  he  gently  scratched  the  pig's 
head  and  back.  "  Now,  Tobias,"  he  said,  "  sing  for 
Mees  Catrine." 

The  pig  demurred. 

"  Sing,  Tobias,"  Pere  Ignace  commanded.  "  Do,  re, 
mi,  fa;  — sing!  " 


90  THE  GRINDING 

The  pig  grunted. 

"  You  are  not  in  good  voice?  I  will  give  you  some 
corn  bread  if  you  sing." 

Whether  Tobias  understood  the  promise  or  not,  he 
suddenly  lifted  up  his  voice  in  a  succession  of  the 
most  amazing  and  ear-splitting  squeals. 

Pere  Ignace  laughed  until  his  bright,  red-brown  eyes 
were  watery  crescents,  and  Catherine  laughed  too, 
until  she  was  wiping  her  eyes. 

"  You  would  think  there  was  a  boucherie  here, 
hein?  "  he  asked  as  the  pig  became  suddenly  quiet. 
Pere  Ignace  had  a  small,  droll  mouth  with  regular,  well- 
shaped  teeth  stained  with  tobacco.  Somehow,  those 
yellowish  teeth  added  an  extra  touch  of  drollery  to 
the  face.  "  Now,  once  more,  Tobias,"  he  requested. 
"  One  more  aria  and  then  a  scherzo  to  finish  and  you 
shall  have  your  corn  bread." 

Tobias  squealed  until  it  made  Catherine's  head  ring. 
When  he  stopped,  Pere  Ignace  went  to  the  open  door 
and  called,  "  Send  me  some  corn  bread,  Delicia." 

There  was  a  shrill  reply  from  the  rear,  and  Pere 
Ignace  expostulated,  "  Oh,  Delicia!  Jus'  a  little  piece. 
I  have  promise'." 

Another  retort,  and  Pere  Ignace  repeated,  "  Oh,  De- 
licia! Please!  For  me,  then.  I  ate  little  breakfas'; 
it  is  not  a  fast  day.  Send  me  a  little  piece." 

A  small,  inky-black,  barefoot  girl  appeared,  carry- 
ing a  plate  on  which  lay  one  small  piece  of  corn 
bread. 

"  Oh,  mon  Dieu!  "  Pere  Ignace  ejaculated  as  he  re- 


THE  GRINDING  91 

ceived  it,  "  there  is  not  enough  for  you  an'  me.  Tobias, 
I  mus'  deny  myself." 

"  How  does  he  happen  to  be  named  Tobias?  "  Cath- 
erine asked  as  Pere  Ignace  once  more  seated  himself. 
"  I  thought  Ananias  said  all  pigs  were  called  Chuney." 

He  shot  a  glance  of  infinite  mischief  at  her  as  he 
answered,  "  Tobias  is  name'  in  honor  of  a  neighbor. 
But  it  is  a  resemblance!  Look  him  in  his  face.  It  is 
to  marvel!  " 

There  was  a  stir  among  the  plants  close  by  Cath- 
erine's left  hand  and  turning  she  saw  the  face  of  a 
horse,  reaching  with  long,  flexible  lips  toward  the  ferns. 
Instantly,  as  she  turned,  the  animal's  face  assumed  an 
indescribable  malevolence  of  expression;  the  ears  were 
laid  close  to  the  neck,  the  lips  were  drawn  back  and 
the  great,  square  teeth  grinned  hideously. 

"Cauchemar!  "  Pere  Ignace  shouted,  and  with  a 
snort  the  creature  whirled  and  dashed  around  the  cor- 
ner of  the  house.  "  Guard  thyself,  Delicia,"  Pere  Ig- 
nace called  to  the  invisible  person  within  doors. 
"  Cauchemar  have  escape'.  Call  Gaston  to  catch  her." 

"It  startled  me  at  first,"  said  Catherine,  "but  I 
don't  suppose  it  would  have  hurt  me." 

"  But  yes,"  he  replied,  "  with  all  her  heart  she  would 
have  hurt  you.  She  will  do  her  possible  for  mischief." 

"  She  is  vicious?  " 

"  Her  temper  is  of  the  worst.  She  have  every  vice 
and  no  virtue."  He  smiled  jovially.  "  As  you  ob- 
serve, she  is  as  ugly  as  the  seven  deadly  sins  and  her 
character  resemble  her  appearance." 


92  THE  GRINDING 

"  Where  did  you  buy  her?  " 

"  I  did  not  buy  her;  no.  I  am  not  so  poor  a  trader." 
His  sides  shook  with  laughter.  "  M'sieur  Tobias 
Blaise  present  her  to  the  church  as  an  Easter  h-offer- 
ing.  It  is  an  old  saying:  '  What  is  bought  is  cheaper 
than  a  gift '." 

"  Are  you  not  afraid  of  her?  "  Catherine  asked. 

"  Undoubtedly;  but,  by  good  fortune,  she  is  also 
afraid  of  me.  Our  hintercourse  is  a  reign  of  terror." 

"  I'd  sell  her,"  Catherine  declared  positively. 

The  laughing  eyes  regarded  her  quizzically,  and  she 
interpreted  their  unspoken  question.  "  That's  true," 
she  corrected  herself,  "you  couldn't.  Nobody'd  buy 
her.  Why  don't  you  give  her  away?  " 

"  I  have  no  friend  whose  death  I  desire." 

"  She  seems  to  be  a  fast  animal,"  Catherine  ob- 
served. 

"  At  times,"  he  replied,  "  she  is  very  fast.  But 
excessively  fast.  It  is  now  three,  four  month  she  mek 
a  record  for  rapidity.  I  have  a  call  down  Bayou 
Blanc;  she  prefer  to  promenade  herself  in  the  cane 
field  of  M'sieur  Tobias  Blaise;  I  recommend  her  to 
read  the  sign,  everywhere  posted:  '  The  Public  is  de- 
fended to  eat  the  canes  under  penalty  of  the  law.'  She 
still  proceed  into  the  canes.  I  hinform  her  we  mus' 
hasten  down  Bayou  Blanc.  She  stand  and  look  back. 
I  beat  her;  she  walk  sideways.  I  continue  to  beat; 
she  continue  to  walk  sideways;  she  creep;  she  stop  an' 
repose.  I  spik  hasty  to  her.  I  renew  to  beat.  I 
have  a  pain  of  the  arm.  The  musquitoes  devour  me. 


THE  GRINDING  93 

I  wish  her  in — "  He  made  a  motion  with  hands, 
shoulder,  head.  A  motion  apologetic,  objurgatory. 
"  Enfin"  he  explained,  "  I  beat  her  all  the  way.  At 
las'  we  arrive.  It  is  four  hour  we  are  on  the  road  to 
mek  four  mile.  I  tie  her  at  the  gate  and  enter  to  my 
penitent.  I  remark  a  sound  —  a  tumult.  The  end 
of  her  rope  'ang  to  the  gate  post,  but  no  Cauchemar  is 
visible.  Two  mile  up  the  Bayou  I  perceive  a  cloud 
of  dust.  She  consume  four  minute  to  mek  four  mile. 
An'  when  I  walk  back,  very  weary,  soak'  with  transpi- 
ration, perishing  of  sunstroke,  I  discover  her  devour 
the  canes  of  M'sieur  Blaise.  Nex'  day  he  come  to 
mek  complaint  that  I  'ave  allow  her  to  eat  his  canes; 
he  wish  to  battle  himself  with  me.  I  h-offer  to  restore 
to  him  Cauchemar  in  payment  of  the  cane  she  have 
devour.  He  say  no  more.  He  retire  in  peace.  Yes, 
she  is  a  fast  animal  if  she  wish." 

Miss  Delicia  appeared  at  the  door  with  apologies 
for  her  delay. 

She  had  evidently  taken  time  to  put  on  her  best 
dress,  a  marvelous  garment,  dotted  over  with  small 
white  buttons  that  made  her  look  as  if  she  had  been 
caught  in  a  hail  storm.  Her  thin,  reddish  hair  was  so 
tightly  coiled  and  twisted  at  the  back  of  her  long, 
narrow  head  that  she  seemed  unable  to  close  her  eyes. 
You  wished  to  wink  for  her  in  looking  at  the  inflamed 
lids,  strained  so  wide  open  that  a  rim  of  white  was 
visible  all  around  the  iris. 

Catherine  explained  her  errand  and  went  inside 
where,  to  the  discomfiture  of  all  concerned,  she  dis- 


94  THE  GRINDING 

covered  Miss  Victorine  snatching  up  a  bundle  on  her 
way  to  the  back  door  from  which  she  was  evidently 
planning  to  escape  unseen.  Catherine  realized  that  she 
had  not  treated  Miss  Victorine  as  kindly  as  she  ought, 
but,  without  betraying  her  secret  embarrassment,  she 
stepped  forward  and  cordially  offered  her  hand.  There 
was  an  almost  imperceptible  reluctance  on  the  part  of 
Miss  Victorine,  but  she  took  it  with  a  respectful,  "  Bon 
jour,  Mees  Catrine,"  and  Catherine  had  made  peace 
with  her  neighbor. 

Miss  Victorine  had  evidently  been  trying  on  a  dress 
which  lay  spread  out  on  two  chairs,  and  she  was  again 
withdrawing  when  Catherine  asked  her  if  she  would 
not  wait  a  moment  so  they  could  walk  back  together, 
adding  with  outward  grace  but  some  inward  reserva- 
tions, "  I  am  glad  of  the  opportunity  of  becoming  ac- 
quainted with  my  neighbors  in  the  country." 

As  they  emerged,  after  the  consultation  with  Miss 
Delicia  —  a  consultation  which  concluded  by  Cath- 
erine's saying  she  would  buy  calico  from  the  peddler's 
cart  and  have  some  more  durable  garments  made  than 
those  she  had  brought  from  the  city  —  Pere  Ignace 
rose  from  his  capacious  chair,  laid  his  pipe  on  the  edge 
of  the  bench,  and  walked  with  them  down  the  path. 

"How  pretty  the  church  is,"  Catherine  observed, 
looking  up  at  the  tall,  slender  spire.  "  That  is  unus- 
ually graceful,  I  think." 

"  So  it  appear  to  me,"  Pere  Ignace  agreed  with  evi- 
dent gratification,  "  but,  alas,  it  need  repair." 

"  It  is  the  fines'  church  in  the  parish,"  Miss  Vic- 


THE  GRINDING  95 

torine  announced  with  pride,  "  an'  the  oldes'.  That 
church  was  built  by  Nore  Pinel,  hein,  Pere  Ignace?  " 

"It  is  a  tradition  that  the  foundation  were  laid  by 
him,"  Pere  Ignace  replied  with  a  flicker  of  amusement 
in  his  eyes;  "and  if  it  please  us  to  believe  a  tradi- 
tion— "  (He  raised  his  eyebrows,  shrugged  his  shoul- 
ders, and  made  a  gesture  of  inquiry  with  both  hands.) 
"  Why  not  believe?  " 

With  the  natural  grace  and  cordiality  of  the  Creole, 
he  opened  the  gate,  thanking  Catherine  for  the  honor 
of  a  visit,  and  bidding  them  both  a  friendly  bon  soir. 

As  she  turned  toward  the  bridge,  Catherine  looked 
back.  He  was  leaning  on  the  gate,  smiling  after  them 
and  showing  his  shapely,  yellow  teeth. 


XI 


ATHEKINE  was  born  on  the  anniversary  of  Ron- 
aid's  birth,  and  the  day  had  been  annually  cele- 
brated with  special  rejoicings.  Now,  as  the  day  ap- 
proached, she  resolved  to  prepare  a  great  celebration. 
Even  in  these  desolate  surroundings,  it  should  be  like 
the  old  times  of  unconstrained  happiness.  She  would 
make  him  forget  that,  in  a  moment  of  perversity,  be- 
cause he  would  not  (or  perhaps  could  not)  delay  his 
trip  to  Washington,  she  had  wounded  him  so  deeply. 
The  dead  past  should  bury  its  dead.  They  would  be 
cheerful  together  once  more,  and  when  this  year's  crop 
was  made,  and  they  had  sold  it  for  a  phenomenal  price, 
they  would  all  go  away  from  Esperance  forever. 

With  these  thoughts  in  her  mind,  she  made  ready  for 
the  birthday  supper,  planning,  meantime,  how,  when 
they  were  seated  around  the  fire,  they  would  talk  things 
over.  She  would  ask  him  to  have  nothing  to  do  with 
those  vulgar  neighbors,  because  they  were  personally 
so  obnoxious  to  her  that  she  did  not  wish  to  be  thrown 
with  them.  Of  course,  if  it  were  necessary  to  have 
business  dealings  with  Mr.  Blaise,  that  would  be  a 
different  matter.  But  she  wished  never  to  be  brought 
into  personal  contact  with  such  persons.  Then  she 
thought  somewhat  uneasily  that,  perhaps,  he  would 

96 


THE  GRINDING  97 

ask  her  never  to  speak  to  Jacques  Lirette  again.  She 
half  wished  he  would,  for  that  would  prove  that  he 
was  not  quite  indifferent  to  her  actions.  But  she  was 
sure  she  could  persuade  him  that  what  he  was  mis- 
taking for  a  sentimental  interest  was  merely  a  kindly 
consideration,  such  as  she  entertained  toward  Miss 
Victorine. 

Here  she  paused.  The  explanation  sounded  uncon- 
vincing. She  would  write  it,  very  carefully,  very  dip- 
lomatically, in  a  note  which  she  would  wrap  up  with 
his  birthday  present.  She  rehearsed  the  wording  to 
herself,  smiling  softly,  as  she  cut  up  her  only  remain- 
ing linen  blouse  into  handkerchiefs  for  Ronald,  and 
hemmed  them  as  painstakingly  as  if  her  whole  plan 
depended  on  the  length  of  her  stitches. 

On  the  morning  of  the  momentous  day  she  went 
out  and  watched  for  the  peddler's  cart,  for  she  was 
going  to  surprise  them  with  fruit  as  well  as  other 
dainties;  furthermore,  Marcelline  needed  salt  and  that 
too  must  be  obtained  from  the  cart.  The  keen  wind 
sweeping  up  the  bayou  tinted  her  cheeks  a  vivid  car- 
mine and  transfigured  her  from  the  pale,  listless  Cath- 
erine of  the  past  few  weeks. 

The  sound  of  rattling  wheels  became  audible  from 
up  the  road  and  presently  Miss  Victorine  appeared, 
bouncing  along  in  her  jumper,  accompanied  by  a  pallid 
mite  of  a  boy.  "  Good  morning,  Mees  Catrine,"  she 
said,  drawing  rein,  "  It  is  your  day  of  fete,  is  it  not? 
You  will  permit  me  to  felicitate?  " 

"  Thank  you,"  Catherine  replied  cordially,  but  won- 


98  THE  GRINDING 

dering  how  Miss  Victorine  knew  it  was  her  birth- 
day. 

"  Marcelline  have  commanded  two  dozen  egg,"  the 
old  lady  explained.  "The  hen  do  not  lay  so  good 
when  it  mek  cold  like  to-day.  But  it  is  a  time  to  kill 
people  with  cold,  hein?  " 

"Yes,  it  is  cold,"  Catherine  agreed,  rubbing  her 
numb  hands  together.  "  Isn't  the  weather  almost  too 
severe  for  such  a  little  fellow  to  be  out?  "  smiling  up 
at  the  puny  face  that  looked  pinched  and  blue,  the  tiny 
nose  scarlet  and  the  black  eyes  swimming  in  frosty 
tears. 

"  It  ain't  really  so  cold,"  Miss  Victorine  explained, 
"  but  it  penetrate.  I  would  not  have  bring  him,  but 
I  have  promise  Mees  Delicia  —  it  is  many  time  already. 
He  are  her  godson." 

"  And  what  is  your  name,  little  man?  "  Catherine 
asked. 

The  child's  watery  eyes  rolled  in  her  direction,  but 
he  made  no  reply. 

"  Told  the  lady  your  name,"  Miss  Victorine  admon- 
ished; then,  as  he  still  maintained  silence,  she  answered 
in  his  place,  "  He  is  name'  Seraphin,  but  he  are  cair 
Feesclay." 

"  '  Feesclay  ',"  Catherine  repeated  in  surprise.  "  Is 
Feesclay  a  nickname  for  Seraphin?  " 

"  But  no,"  Miss  Victorine  replied,  surprised  in  turn, 
"  it  is  no  nick;  it  is  a  magic." 

"  A  what?  "  Catherine  asked. 

"  A  magic.    He  have  a  rising  —  a  very  bad  rising. 


THE  GRINDING  99 

Two,  three,  possiblement  more.  See?  "  removing  his 
cap  and  showing  the  mark  of  a  boil  behind  one  ear. 
"  It  is  for  that  we  call  him  Feesclay." 

More  and  more  bewildered,  Catherine  listened  in 
silence. 

"  You  comprehend,"  Miss  Victorine  asserted; 
"  when  nothing  don't  cure  a  risings,  you  call  him  Fees- 
clay.  Then  it  disappear.  But  we  are  scared  to  call 
him  Seraphin  too  quick.  We  will  call  him  Feesclay 
until  all  the  marks  has  went  away." 

"  Miss  Victorine,"  said  Catherine,  dismissing  the  in- 
comprehensible Feesclay,  "  did  you  see  the  peddler's 
cart  up  the  road?  Marcelline  says  we  are  out  of 
salt." 

"  But  you  will  permit  me  to  give  you  some?  "  said 
Miss  Victorine,  with  her  kindly,  pursed-up  smile. 
"For  salt  you  need  not  wait  the  peddler  cart  when  the 
day  mek  cold  like  it  do  this  mornin'." 

"  I  am  waiting  for  something  else  besides  the  salty 
but  Marcelline  needs  that  as  soon  as  possible,  and  1 
shall  be  most  grateful  to  you  if  you  can  lend  us  some." 

"  Not  '  lend ';  geeve"  Miss  Victorine  corrected. 
"  It  is  a  sin  to  lend  salt;  it  is  a  sin  to  borrow  it." 

"A  sin?  "  Catherine  asked. 

"  But  yes,"  Miss  Victorine  explained,  "  that  under- 
stands itself.  If  we  are  the  salt  of  the  earth,  we 
must  not  borrow  it;  we  must  not  lend.  We  must 
geeve  /  Is  it  not  true?  " 

"  Perhaps  so,"  Catherine  replied,  politely  yielding 
to  Miss  Victorine's  superstition,  "  and  I  am  all  the 


100  THE  GRINDING 

more  indebted  to  you.  May  I  send  right  over  for  it  — 
and  for  the  eggs?  " 

"I  will  send,  this  hinstant,"  said  Miss  Victorine, 
and  with  a  polite  "  Au  Revoir  "  and  a  parting  but  futile 
admonition  to  Feesclay  to  "  Mek  his  adieux  at  Mees 
Catrine,"  she  rattled  homeward. 

As  she  approached  the  bridge,  Jacques  Lirette  came 
in  sight,  galloping  up  the  bayou  road.  His  dark  hair 
blowing  back  from  his  face,  his  whole  figure,  lithe  and 
slender,  the  very  incarnation  of  youth  and  strength 
and  beauty.  There  was  a  radiant  light  in  his  eyes, 
and  Miss  Victorine  glanced  back  at  Catherine  for  the 
explanation.  She  thought  she  had  discovered  it,  for 
his  expression  was  reflected  on  the  fair,  girlish  face, 
and  unmindful  of  the  taciturn  Feesclay,  Miss  Victorine 
exclaimed  aloud:  "No!  it  is  not  possible!  "  As  she 
crossed  the  bridge,  she  looked  back  again,  and  seeing 
him  swing  himself  down  from  the  pony  and  stand  be- 
side Catherine,  she  repeated,  "  It  is  not  possible!  It 
was  not  for  heem  she  wait?  " 

He  had  a  basket  on  his  arm,  and  as  he  looked  down 
at  her,  Catherine's  eyes  sank.  There  was  a  moment 
of  self-consciousness  on  the  part  of  both;  then,  first 
to  recover  himself,  he  spoke:  "  I  has  somethin'  for 
you,"  he  said.  "  We  ben  slaughterin'  to  our  house,  an' 
I  brought  you  some  of  my  maw's  hog's  head  cheese. 
She  kin  cook! "  he  exclaimed  with  evident  pride. 
"  An'  so  kin  my  sisters.  My  maw  say  girls  don't  stand 
no  chance  of  gettin'  husbands  ef  they  don't  know  how 
to  cook  — but  I  don't  know  about  that,"  he  added 


THE  GRINDING  101 

quickly.  "  A  girl  can  learn  after  she's  married,  hein?  " 
He  smiled  at  her,  that  sweet,  that  alluring  smile  that 
had  made  "  all  the  girls  betwix'  Bergerac  and  the 
Gulf,"  fall  in  love  with  him. 

Avoiding  his  eyes,  and  ignoring  his  words,  she  re- 
garded the  mixture  in  the  bowl  he  handed  her. 
"  There  are  little  green  flakes  all  through  it,"  she  said. 
"  They  must  be  herbs  of  some  sort,  I  suppose." 

"  See  that?  "  he  ejaculated.  "  You'll  catch  on  jest 
as  easy!  "  Then,  in  his  soft,  foreign  voice,  "  That 
ain't  true  what  Mr.  RonaP  tole  me?" 

"  Yes,"  she  said  with  downcast  eyes,  "  it  was  true 
when  I  left  the  city.  I  was  — "  She  didn't  know  how 
to  go  on.  What  if  she  never  heard  from  Adolphus 
Banks  again?  She  wished  she  need  never  hear  from 
him  —  never!  And  how  could  she  explain  the  incredi- 
ble situation  to  anyone?  That  she  should  have  been 
treated  with  such  contemptuous  neglect!  Although  the 
time  had  in  reality  been  short  since  she  came  to  the  coun- 
try, it  had  seemed  interminable  to  her.  Then  why  pre- 
tend she  was  still  engaged  to  him?  It  would  put  an  end 
to  these  glimpses  of  Jacques  which  were  among  the  few 
interests  left  her.  But  neither  did  she  wish  a  declara- 
tion from  him;  that,  equally,  would  put  an  end  to  their 
acquaintance,  and  so  she  left  her  sentence  unfinished. 

"  It  was  true  when  you  lef '  the  city,"  Jacques  said 
softly,  "  but  it  ain't  true  now.  The  city  is  a  fur  ways 
off—" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  she  interrupted.  "  I  don't 
want  to  talk  about  it." 


102  THE  GRINDING 

"  /  know,"  he  persisted  gently.  "  You  ain't  engage' 
to  nobody." 

"  I'm  cold,"  she  said,  ignoring  his  words,  "  I  must 
go  into  the  house.  Thank  you  so  much  for  this  —  I've 
forgotten  the  name,"  and  she  walked  away,  forgetting 
the  peddler's  cart. 

Fergus  and  Ronald  were  standing  by  the  dining- 
room  window  while  they  waited  for  their  breakfast. 
From  that  position,  they  had  a  distant  view  of  the 
gate  through  the  trees,  and  they  saw  Catherine  and 
Jacques  apparently  deep  in  conversation.  Then  they 
watched  her  as  she  came  up  the  path,  bowl  in  hand. 
She  was  smiling  and  her  cheeks  were  like  roses,  from 
the  cold.  Fergus  glanced  at  Ronald,  saying,  "  Evi- 
dently, she  had  ordered  something  from  him." 

"  Possibly  so,"  Ronald  answered  with  apparent  care- 
lessness. "  It  isn't  for  me  to  interfere  again,  but  her 
passion  for  admiration  brings  her  into  some  peculiar 
positions.  Banks  had  at  least  some  of  the  outward 
attributes  of  a  gentleman  —  but  she  may  find  it  hard 
to  make  this  Cajan  understand  exactly  what  she  means 
by  the  language  she  is  talking  to  him.  He  may  not 
realize  that  all  is  fish  that  comes  to  her  net."  Ronald 
had  never  spoken  so  scornfully  before. 

"  She's  very  young,"  Fergus  said  apologetically. 

"  Young? "  Ronald  questioned.  "  Do  you  call 
twenty-three  '  very  young '?  When  she  was  sixteen 
and  seventeen  her  youth  did  excuse  her.  But  now  she 
ought  to  realize  the  danger.  I  hear  his  father  is  a 


THE  GRINDING  103 

Cajan;  but  his  mother  is  a  Sicilian.  That  is  a  danger- 
ous inheritance.  The  Sicilians  are  brought  up  on  the 
blood  feud.  And  here  is  Catherine,  playing  with  that 
tigress's  youngest  cub!  " 

Meantime  Catherine,  with  the  bowl  in  her  hand,  had 
gone  around  to  the  kitchen  door,  where  she  found 
Ananias  bringing  armfuls  of  wood  in  to  the  house, 
while  Pidgeon  stood  idle,  at  the  foot  of  the  steps,  his 
neck  wrapped  in  voluminous  folds  of  a  dingy  woolen 
material,  impossible  to  classify. 

"  Why,  Pidgeon,"  she  exclaimed,  "  what's  the  mat- 
ter? Why  aren't  you  carrying  in  the  wood  for  Uncle 
Ananias?  " 

"  My  palate's  down,"  he  replied  in  a  deep,  bass 
voice. 

Ananias,  emerging  from  the  kitchen  door  corrobo- 
rated the  statement  and  added,  "  I  reckon  his  maw  on- 
wrapped  his  hair  too  quick."  Then,  turning  to  Pid- 
geon, "  Has  you  a  misery  in  you  haid?  " 

"  Yassir,"  Pidgeon  replied  in  basso  profundo,  "  I 
shore,  has." 

"  You  mouter  ben  cunjured,"  Ananias  hazarded  in  a 
tremulous  falsetto.  "  Effen  you  is,  you  get  you  maw 
to  put  two  bran  new  needles  crossways  in  you  hair  when 
you  goes  to  bed.  En  effen  that  don't  cure  you,  make 
her  sprinkle  salt  an'  sawdust  top  er  you  haid." 

Marcelline  appeared  at  the  kitchen  door.  "  You  go 
home,"  she  said,  "  an'  do  like  Unc'  Nias  tell  you;  an' 
me  an'  him'll  fetch  you  suthin'  fum  dinner  effen  Miss 


104  THE  GRINDING 

Catrine  are  willin'.  Breakfus'  are  ready,  Miss  Cat- 
rine,"  and  Catherine  went  to  the  dining-room,  full  of 
happy  anticipations  and  unconscious  of  the  suspicions 
she  had  aroused  by  waiting  for  the  peddler's  cart. 


XII 

/CATHERINE  sang  as  she  took  the  last  stitches  in 
^-^  Ronald's  handkerchiefs  and  wrapped  them  into  as 
neat  a  parcel  as  possible  where  there  was  neither  tissue 
paper  nor  narrow  ribbon.  Inside  was  the  friendly  lit- 
tle note  wishing  him  happiness  and  expressing  her  sis- 
terly affection.  She  untied  the  parcel  and  reread  the 
note  with  the  pleased  consciousness  of  having  been 
very  good  indeed  —  perhaps  even  excessively  so. 

Then  she  went  out  of  doors  to  look  for  flowers  with 
which  to  decorate.  She  knew  where  she  could  find 
the  first  violets,  hidden  away  under  their  leaves,  and 
where,  in  a  sheltered  corner  of  the  garden,  a  row  of 
pepper  bushes  still  held  some  of  their  scarlet  fruit. 
The  thorny  branches  of  the  Chinese  quince  were  cov- 
ered with  blossoms,  and  in  spite  of  the  biting  cold, 
there  were  armfuls  of  roses  in  the  garden. 

By  six  o'clock  the  dining-room  mantel  was  banked 
with  flowers;  the  center  of  the  table  was  a  mass  of 
roses  and  wild  ferns  which  she  had  gathered  with 
stiffening  fingers  in  the  drizzling  rain,  and  everywhere 
were  candles  waiting  to  be  lighted.  By  dint  of  in- 
cessant effort,  the  cavernous  fireplace  glowed  with  roar- 
ing flames  that  danced  and  flickered  on  the  white- 
washed walls.  The  little,  square  parcel  lay  on  Ron- 

105 


106  THE  GRINDING 

aid's  plate  where  he  could  see  it  the  moment  he  seated 
himself.  How  surprised  he  would  be  that,  in  this  far 
land,  she  had  been  able  to  find  a  birthday  present  for 
him!  And  the  thought  that  he  could  not,  by  any  pos- 
sibility, have  anything  for  her  increased  her  pleasure. 
For  once,  she  felt  the  sweetness  of  giving  and  not  re- 
ceiving. 

After  surveying  the  results  of  her  work,  she  turned 
away  with  a  happy  look  and  carefully  closed  the  door 
to  keep  in  all  the  warmth  and  brightness.  A  fire  was 
smouldering  in  her  bedroom,  but  the  air  was  so  pierc- 
ingly cold  she  could  scarcely  dress  and  she  fumbled  in 
trying  to  pin  the  pink  roses  on  her  breast.  And  yet, 
with  her  shining  eyes  and  flushed  cheeks,  she  was  love- 
lier than  ever  she  had  looked  in  her  life.  One  short 
year  ago,  she  remembered,  Fergus  gave  her  her  beau- 
tiful pearls.  Where  were  they  now,  she  wondered. 
Who  was  wearing  them  to-night?  Nevermind!  She 
would  not  think  about  them.  They  had  not  made  her 
happy;  nothing  made  her  happy  in  those  days;  noth- 
ing satisfied  her;  nothing  was  good  enough.  Was  that 
the  reason  why  everything  had  been  taken  from  her, 
she  wondered.  And  now,  she  thought,  I  am  poor  but 
I  am  happy.  She  was  in  a  state  of  exaltation. 

Back  to  the  dining-room  to  light  the  candles  and 
take  a  last  look  at  everything.  Then  she  stood  wait- 
ing, holding  a  slender  foot  to  warm  before  the  flames. 
Presently  the  outer  door  slammed  as  the  wind  caught 
it  and  there  were  footsteps  in  the  hall.  How  aston- 
ished they  would  be  when  they  saw  the  candles  burn- 


THE  GRINDING  107 

ing  and  the  table  covered  with  flowers!  She  stood 
looking  expectantly  toward  the  door.  It  opened,  and 
Fergus  entered. 

"  Oh!  "  he  exclaimed,  "  how  lovely!  "  Standing  by 
the  fire  he  looked  smilingly  at  her  as  he  warmed  his 
hands.  "  The  fairest  thing  in  mortal  eyes,"  he  said 
and,  drawing  her  to  him,  kissed  her. 

Eagerly,  she  watched  the  door.  What  made  Ronald 
so  slow,  she  wondered. 

Fergus  spoke  with  a  perceptible  effort.  "  You  may 
as  well  order  supper,"  he  said.  "  I  don't  believe  Ron- 
ald will  be  back.  Something  must  have  happened  to 
detain  him." 

"  Where  is  he?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  believe  —  in  fact  I  know  —  he  went  to  Ber- 
gerac." 

"To  Bergerac!  " 

"  Yes;  he's  been  wishing  for  several  days  to  go." 

"  I  saw  the  automobile  pass  by,"  she  observed  in  a 
measured  tone,  "  but  I  didn't  notice  that  he  was  in  it." 
All  the  brightness  had  faded  from  her  face  as  she  rang 
for  Marcelline  and  ordered  supper.  So  this  was  the 
end  of  all  her  effort!  This  was  all  Ronald  cared  or 
remembered  about  their  birthday!  She  was  white  with 
anger,  but  made  no  comment  as  she  seated  herself  at 
the  table. 

"  He  had  been  wishing  very  much  to  go,  for  some 
days,  and  was  planning  to  do  so  yesterday,  in  Octave 
Robichaux's  lugger;  but  Octave  disappointed  him,  and 
Placide  says  they  came  by  and  invited  him — "  He 


108  THE  GRINDING 

stopped,  feeling  that  his  explanation  was  a  lame  one, 
and  wondering  himself  that  Ronald  could  have  been 
so  unfeeling.  Remembering  the  trace  of  relentlessness 
in  his  character,  Fergus  feared  this  was  done  deliber- 
ately to  wound  Catherine.  And  yet  it  was  the  first 
time  Ronald  had  ever  been  so  inconsiderate.  He  would 
suspend  judgment,  and  hope  it  was  merely  due  to  the 
levity  of  youth. 

"  Certainly,"  she  said  after  a  long  pause  in  which 
she  was  trying  to  steady  her  voice,  "  he'd  have  been 
very  foolish  not  to  go  —  if  he  wished  to.  How  dark 
it  is !  "  with  a  glance  at  the  uncurtained  window. 

"  I'm  so  sorry  to  have  nothing  for  you,"  Fergus 
said  presently,  "  I  tried  — " 

"  Oh,  Fergus  dear,"  she  interrupted  gently,  "  I 
didn't  expect  anything.  How  could  you  give  me  any- 
thing?"" 

"  I  knew  you'd  understand,"  he  said,  "  but  you 
don't  know,  Cathie,  how  it  hurt  me." 

She  smiled  tremulously  at  him  across  the  table,  bend- 
ing to  one  side  to  look  between  the  flowers  and  lights. 
"  I  think  I  do,"  she  said. 

Supper  ended,  Fergus  drew  their  chairs  before  the 
fire  and  lighted  his  evening  pipe.  He  rested  his  arm 
on  her  shoulder  and  they  sat  a  long  time  in  silence. 
The  clock  ticked  on  the  mantel,  the  wind  sighed  and 
moaned  in  the  chimney,  and  Catherine's  thoughts  wan- 
dered to  other  days.  How  easily  she  had  been  disap- 
pointed then!  How  hard  to  please!  And  now  no 


THE  GRINDING  109 

one  cared  to  please  her  except  dear,  faithful  Fergus  — 
and  —  perhaps  — 

"  It's  a  wild  n.ght,"  he  said,  breaking  the  silence; 
"  hark  how  it  is  raining.  I'm  afraid  Ronald  won't  be 
able  to  get  home.  We  mustn't  worry  if  he  doesn't. 
And,"  he  added  with  ill-concealed  eagerness,  "  we 
mustn't  blame  him;  it  won't  be  his  fault,  I'm  sure." 

"  No,"  she  agreed,  "  I  sha'n't  worry."  After  a  long 
silence,  she  suddenly  broke  out  impetuously,  "  Fergus, 
Ronald  isn't  happy  here.  Why  does  he  stay?  Grace 
Fessenden  loves  him  and  if  he  married  her  his  future 
would  be  assured.  I  think  Uncle  Frank  would  give 
his  consent.  I  wonder  why  he  doesn't  go."  She 
wished  Fergus  would  say  that  Ronald  was  staying  be- 
cause he  couldn't  make  up  his  mind  to  go. 

Instead  of  that,  he  asked,  "  Have  you  any  reason  to 
suppose  that  Grace  loves  him?  Has  she  ever  said 
so?" 

"No;  but  I  know  it,"  Catherine  declared,  "and  it 
would  be  so  much  better  for  him  than  to  be  here.  Far 
more  advantageous."  She  paused.  Would  he  accept 
his  freedom,  she  wondered,  or  would  he  choose  to  stay 
here?  And  what  would  he  think  if  Fergus  told  him 
she  had  proposed  that  he  should  go? 

"  I  don't  agree  with  you,"  Fergus  replied.  "  Why 
would  it  be  better  —  even  admitting  that  Grace  does 
love  him  —  for  him  to  marry  a  woman  whom  he  does 
not  love,  merely  because  she  has  money?  Even  if 
he  were  willing  to  do  so  selfish  a  thing,  I'm  not  sure  it 


110  THE  GRINDING 

would  be  an  advantage  to  him.  Think  of  the  moral 
side,  Catherine.  Would  it  be  better  for  him  to  go  back 
and  become  Uncle  Frank's  pensioner;  marry  Grace  for 
her  money  and  lead  an  easy,  sheltered  life,  than  to 
fight  it  out  bravely  here?  If  the  development  of  char- 
acter is  the  chief  end  of  existence  —  as  I  suspect  it  is 
—  no  one  attains  that  end  by  running  away  from  hard- 
ship. I  suppose  human  conditions  are  valuable  in 
proportion  to  their  development  of  our  power  —  not 
in  proportion  to  our  material  gains  nor  our  pleasure  in 
life.  No,  I  should  be  sorry  to  see  him  give  up  and 
go  off  to  a  life  of  ease  with  the  Fessendens  —  unless 
his  presence  here  makes  you  unhappy — " 

"  Oh,  no,"  she  answered  lightly,  "  I'm  speaking  only 
for  his  good.  He's  welcome  to  stay  as  long  as  he 
wishes." 

"  Besides,"  Fergus  added,  following  out  a  train  of 
thought,  "  that  is  not  his  only  alternative  — " 

"  How  so?  "  she  asked. 

"  There  are  other  things  open." 

She  waited  for  an  explanation  of  his  words,  but  he 
gazed  musingly  into  the  fire  and  remained  silent. 
"  Oh,  Fergus,"  she  said,  leaning  forward  for  her  good- 
night kiss,  "  I'm  so  tired." 

When  she  reached  her  room,  her  look  changed.  She 
was  transported  with  anger.  Wildly,  she  tore  off  the 
roses  and  crushed  them.  The  little  parcel  which  she 
had  prepared  with  so  much  pleasure,  she  dashed  on  to 
the  dying  embers.  It  flared  up  and  burned  for  a  mo- 
ment with  a  vivid  light.  Then,  with  a  stifled  cry,  she 


THE  GRINDING  111 

threw  herself  upon  the  bare  floor  whispering,  "  I'll 
never  forgive  him!  Never!  Never!  " 

Exhausted  as  she  was,  she  must  have  fallen  asleep, 
for  she  was  dreaming  of  a  vast,  luxurious  room  with 
lights  and  mirrors  and  great,  open  windows  through 
which  the  wind  was  blowing,  when  something  roused 
her.  At  first  she  thought  someone  had  knocked  at 
her  door,  but  in  a  moment  she  heard  voices. 

"  Yes,  I'll  tell  her  in  the  morning,"  Ronald  said,  and 
then  she  heard  him  running  lightly  up  to  his  room. 


XIII 

WHEN  Catherine  entered  the  dining-room  the  fol- 
ing  morning,  Ronald  was  waiting  for  her  and 
began  an  immediate  explanation  of  his  absence  from 
the  birthday  supper. 

"  Why,"  she  interrupted  with  an  air  of  surprise,  "  it 
wasn't  of  the  slightest  importance.' 

"  I'd  have  been  home  in  time,"  he  persisted,  "  but 
the  machine  skidded  so  we  nearly  toppled  into  the 
bayou  where  the  road  makes  that  sharp  turn  just  be- 
low the  Old  Burying  Ground." 

"  What  an  appropriate  place  that  would  have  been 
for  the  accident,"  she. said,  laughing  gaily.  "Think 
how  it  would  have  sounded  in  the  Society  Notes  next 
Sunday.  '  A  brilliant  party  of  joy  riders  ran  into  the 
bayou  just  below  the  Old  Burying  Ground  and  stuck 
hopelessly  in  the  mud.'  Do  you  remember  the  poem 
of  the  little  boy  who  got  caught  in  the  tree  by  his  hair? 
And  the  story  ended:  *  To-morrow  we'll  go  out  and 
take  him  down.'  The  neighboring  planters  would  have 
rushed  to  get  you  out  this  morning." 

He  tried  to  reintroduce  the  subject,  but  she  refused 
to  listen  seriously  and  only  said,  "  Oh,  Ronald,  you 
never  did  have  any  sense  of  humor." 

That  afternoon  she  and  Fergus  were  waiting  in  the 
112 


THE  GRINDING  113 

hall  for  the  arrival  of  the  mail.  Their  only  communi- 
cation with  the  outside  world  was  by  way  of  Bergerac, 
and  not  wishing  to  depend  on  the  slow  uncertainty  of 
the  peddler's  cart  for  their  letters,  they  sent  Pidgeon 
on  a  weekly  trip  to  the  village.  Presently  Ronald 
came  through  the  gate  and  up  the  long  walk  with  his 
easy,  swinging  stride.  Thin  as  a  greyhound,  yet  ath- 
letic, his  well-set  head  and  square  shoulders  gave  him 
a  look  of  pride  and  obstinacy.  The  two  watched  him 
through  the  door  which,  characteristically  of  Southern 
people,  they  had  left  open  in  spite  of  the  cold.  He 
entered  the  hall,  and  likewise  leaving  the  door  open, 
came  and  stood  by  the  fire. 

"  I  wish  we  could  manage  to  get  some  modern  ma- 
chinery for  our  sugar  house,"  he  said.  "  You  know 
we  can  never  compete  with  other  planters,  making  this 
old-fashioned,  open  kettle  sugar,  by  our  wasteful,  out- 
of-date  methods.  It's  dreadful  to  be  harassed  with 
anxiety  for  ten  months  and  then  fail  because  we  haven't 
the  necessary  utensils." 

"  We  can't  get  them  this  year,"  Fergus  replied. 

"  Oh,  I  know  it,"  Ronald  admitted.  "  I  know  it. 
I'm  like  a  child  crying  for  the  moon.  But  when  I  see 
other  people's  sugar  houses,  with  their  improved 
methods,  it  drives  me  wild  to  think  what  we're  work- 
ing with.  And  here  we  are,  subject  to  overflow,  and 
struggling  to  make  our  crop  against  such  odds — " 
He  broke  off  and  gazed  frowningly  into  the  fire. 

"  Money's  the  most  important  thing  in  the  world," 
Catherine  observed. 


114  THE  GRINDING 

"  No,"  said  Fergus,  "  it's  of  third  importance.?' 

"  How  so?  "  she  asked,  but  at  this  moment  Pidgeon 
appeared  with  the  mail  and  Fergus  began  assorting  the 
letters  while  she  and  Ronald  looked  over  his  shoulders. 

"  Look,"  said  Fergus,  "  they've  mixed  the  Gold  Mine 
mail  with  ours.  '  Miss  Modesta  Blaise ',"  he  read 
aloud,  "  '  Miss  Blaise  ',  '  Miss  Blaise  ';  she  seems  to 
have  a  monopoly  of  the  correspondence  at  Gold  .Mine." 

"  Perhaps  she's  the  only  one  knows  how  to  read," 
Catherine  suggested  in  an  innocent  tone. 

"  No,"  said  Fergus,  ignoring  her  words,  "  here's  one 
for  Tobias  Blaise,  Esq.  Why!  "  with  an  astonished 
pause,  "  isn't  that  Marc  Button's  handwriting?  " 

"  Certainly,"  said  Catherine. 

"That's  just  like  Marc,"  Fergus  declared.  "I 
wrote  to  him  about  that  boundary  line  above  the  Old 
Burying  Ground,  and  you  see  he's  attending  to  it  right 
away.  He's  pure  gold,  Marc  is." 

"  Do  you  think  so?  "  Ronald  asked. 

"  Why,"  Fergus  exclaimed,  "  don't  you?  " 

"  I've  wondered  sometimes  if  there  were  not  a  good 
deal  of  alloy  in  his  composition." 

"  I  don't  believe  it,"  Fergus  protested.  "  I've  al- 
ways found  that  he  rang  true.  What  makes  you  sus- 
pect him?  " 

"  His  neglect  to  forward  your  mail,  and  his  absence 
from  the  city  when  I  arrived  were  too  opportune,  it 
seemed  to  me,  to  be  altogether  accidental." 

'Those  coincidences  do  happen,  Ronald.  I  have 
reason  to  know  — "  he  broke  off  as  if  he  had  changed 


THE  GRINDING  115 

his  mind  about  finishing  the  sentence.  Then,  handing 
him  a  letter,  "  Here's  one  for  you,  Ronald." 

"  Nothing  for  me?  "  Catherine  asked  in  a  disap- 
pointed tone. 

"  Not  this  time*,  darling,"  Fergus  answered,  smiling 
up  at  her  as  one  might  at  a  child.  "  The  next  time,  I 
hope." 

Glancing  at  the  superscription  of  his  letter,  Ronald 
exclaimed,  "  It's  from  Tom  Ogers,"  then,  running 
through  its  contents,  "  He  may  come  to  see  us. 
Wouldn't  that  be  the  greatest  luck?  It  might  change 
the  entire  situation." 

"  It  might  indeed,"  said  Fergus. 

Ronald  reread  Tom  Ogers 's  letter,  smiling  uncon- 
sciously the  while,  then,  catching  up  those  for  Gold 
Mine,  said,  "  I'll  take  these  over  for  you,  Fergus." 

"  Perhaps,"  Fergus  suggested,  "  it  might  be  just  as 
well  not  to  mention  Tom's  visit  to  any  one  —  at  least 
until  it's  a  certainty." 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  Ronald  agreed.  "  We  may  be  dis- 
appointed, but  I  don't  believe  we  shall.  He'll  come," 
and  whistling  gaily,  ran  down  the  steps. 

Catherine  was  annoyed  at  his  light-heartedness.  He 
had  not  spoken  to  her  and  had  made  a  parade  of 
going  to  Gold  Mine  with  the  letters.  "  Why  would 
it  be  such  an  advantage  to  have  Mr.  Ogers  visit  here?  " 
she  asked. 

"  He  might  become  interested  in  the  plantation  and 
advance  us  the  money  we  need  for  our  crop,"  Fergus 
explained  in  an  abstracted  tone  as  he  -unfolded  the 


116  THE  GRINDING 

paper  and  handed  her  the  sheet  marked,  "Society 
Notes." 

She  began  reading.  "Fergus,"  she  exclaimed, 
"  May  Vincent  and  George  Burbank  have  anonunced 
their  engagement." 

"  That's  good,"  he  said,  resting  his  paper  on  his 
knee  and  looking  at  her  with  an  expression  of  pleasure. 
"  I'm  very  glad." 

"  I  always  liked  May,"  said  Catherine,  "  but  I 
thought  George  Burbank  a  commonplace  person." 

"  So  did  I,"  said  Fergus,  "  until  trouble  came."  He 
paused  and  resumed  his  reading. 

"  How  so,"  she  asked,  "  '  until  trouble  came  '?  " 

"  I  never  told  you  how  Burbank  expressed  sym- 
pathy," he  said.  "  He  had  some  money  —  his  life's 
savings  —  a  few  thousand  dollars,  and  he  offered  to 
lend  it  all  to  me  without  security.  There's  not  one 
man  in  a  million  would  have  done  that." 

"  But  he  knew  he  could  trust  you." 

"  Yes,"  he  answered  in  a  constrained  tone,  "  he  be- 
lieved in  me  when  no  one  else  did.  He  has  a  heart  of 
gold.  Such  generosity  and  faith  are  not  common- 
place." 

"No,"  she  agreed;  then,  after  a  pause,  "How  do 
you  account  for  Uncle  Frank's  not  offering  to  help 
us?  I've  often  wondered." 

Fergus  answered  with  evident  effort,  "  He  had  lost 
faith  in  my  capacity  for  business  —  not  in  my  hon- 
esty, I  truly  believe.  But  I  have  lost  credit  —  and  to 
lose  credit  is  ten  thousand  times  worse  than  to  lose 


THE  GRINDING  117 

money.  Credit  is  capital.  A  man  may  afford  to  risk 
money;  he's  a  fool  if  he  risks  his  credit."  There  was 
an  unusual  ring  of  bitterness  in  his  tone,  but  in  a 
moment  he  added  in  a  kindlier  voice,  "  And  you  know 
his  money  is  not  his  own.  When  a  man  is  using  his 
wife's  capital  he  has  to  be  doubly  careful;  and  your 
Aunt  Kate  is  not  sentimental." 

"  I  think  she  might  be  decently  liberal,"  said  Cath- 
erine, "  seeing  I'm  named  for  her." 

"  She's  a  very  keen  business  woman,"  Fergus  ex- 
plained, "  and  possibly  she  thinks  he  married  her  for 
her  money.  You  know  it  used  to  be  said  that  all  the 
Fessendens  married  for  money.  But  that  was  not 
true  of  all,"  he  added  hastily,  remembering  that  Cath- 
erine's mother  was  a  Fessenden. 

Silently  she  resumed  her  reading  of  the  Society 
Notes.  So  many  new  names  had  crept  into  the  exclu- 
sive set,  she  reflected.  Presently,  she  came  upon  this 
item:  "  Miss  Belle  Snively  has  returned  from  a  delight- 
ful visit  to  Gold  Mine  plantation,  the  palatial  country 
home  of  Miss  Modesta  Blaise."  So  Belle  had  been  in 
the  country  again  and  had  not  communicated  with 
her.  But  it  could  not  be  otherwise  after  the  dis- 
courtesy shown  to  Modesta  here  at  Esperance.  At  the 
top  of  the  next  page,  she  read:  "  Miss  Modesta  Blaise, 
who  has  been  entertaining  a  numerous  house  party  at 
her  magnificent  country  home,  Gold  Mine,  took  her 
guests  to  the  sea  shore  on  Thursday  last  for  a  day's 
outing  on  her  beautiful  new  launch,  The  Fair  Mod- 
esta." She  wished  she  had  a  launch  and  could  go 


118  THE  GRINDING 

down  the  bayou  to  Barataria  Bay;  or  that  she  had  an 
automobile  and  could  explore  all  the  country.  She 
thought  longingly  of  her  own  little  electric  runabout. 
Who  was  riding  in  it  now,  she  wondered. 

"  Fergus,"  she  said,  "  if  Mr.  Ogers  doesn't  come, 
wouldn't  it  be  right  to  let  George  Burbank  lend  us 
that  money?  We're  sure  to  make  an  immense  crop; 
and  sugar's  getting  a  good  price,  isn't  it?  " 

As  she  spoke,  Ananias  appeared,  hat  in  hand.  "  I 
reckon  Pidgeon  los'  dishyer,  somewheres,"  he  said, 
handing  Fergus  a  letter.  "  M'sieu  Jacques  pick  it  up 
somewheres." 

"  How  long  have  you  had  it?  "  Fergus  asked,  glanc- 
ing at  the  date  on  the  soiled  and  crumpled  envelope. 

Ananias  scratched  his  head  in  perplexity.  What 
would  be  best,  he  wondered;  to  speak  the  truth,  or  to 
brave  it  out  and  say  Jacques  had  that  moment  brought 
it. 

"  You  have  had  it  a  week,"  Fergus  said  accusingly. 
"  You  must  not  be  careless  with  the  mail.  Tell  Pid- 
geon I  wish  to  see  him." 

By  one  of  those  premonitions  that  come  to  us  all 
occasionally,  Catherine  knew  what  Jacques  Lirette 
had  brought.  Why,  oh  why,  had  she  not  written  to 
Adolphus  Banks  as  she  had  planned! 

Opening  the  letter,  she  read: 

"My  Dear  Catherine: 

"  What  shall  I  say  in  answer  to  your  letter  telling  me 
that  you  were  accepting  me  after  long  hesitation?  If 


THE  GRINDING  119 

you  love  me,  why  did  you  hesitate?     And  if  you  do  not, 
why  did  you  finally  accept  my  offer? 

"  Emerson  says  that  every  action  should  be  meas- 
ured by  the  sentiment  from  which  it  proceeds.  And 
you  have  assured  me  a  thousand  times  that  there  was 
no  sentiment  in  your  nature.  Then  why  do  you  bind 
yourself  with  promises  that  you  cannot  fulfill? 

"  I  might  wish  to  shelter  you  from  the  storm  and 
restore  to  you  the  brightness  of  life,  but  I  am  too  inti- 
mately acquainted  with  human  nature  to  believe 
that  the  mere  surrounding  you  with  comforts  could 
make  you  happy  when  you  were  bound  by  irksome 
ties. 

"  No,  my  dear  girl,  I  cannot  accept  such  a  sacrifice 
from  you,  and  I  restore  the  freedom  which  you  have 
renounced. 

"  Wishing  you  happiness  in  your  new  surroundings, 
I  am 

"  Very  truly  yours, 

"  ADOLPHUS  BANKS." 

Fergus  glanced  uneasily  at  her  as  she  read,  for  he 
had  recognized  the  handwriting.  She  was  very  pale 
and  still,  with  a  certain  steadfastness  of  expression. 
What  had  the  scoundrel  written,  he  wondered. 

For  a  time  she  sat  perfectly  quiet  with  the  open 
letter  in  her  hand.  How  she  had  complicated  her  life 
by  engaging  herself  to  that  bad,  dishonorable  man! 
She  recalled  Ronald's  ironical  tone  when  he  said  that 
now  Adolphus  Banks  had  the  opportunity  to  prove  his 


120  THE  GRINDING 

disinterestedness.  She  felt  herself  burn  with  shame. 
How  she  had  played  the  fool! 

Springing  to  her  feet,  she  dashed  the  letter  into  the 
fire  and  went  out  on  to  the  gallery.  As  she  stood  look- 
ing down  the  bayou,  thinking  of  all  that  had  befallen 
her,  a  horseman  flew  by  on  his  way  to  Bergerac.  Had 
he  really  passed,  or  was  it  a  wraith,  a  spirit  of  the 
woods  and  clouds,  evoked  from  her  imagination? 

Fergus  too,  had  seen  the  figure  and  with  an  intuitive 
perception  of  danger  came  and  stood  beside  her. 

"  That  letter  was  from  Adolphus  Banks,"  she  said 
in  a  low  tone. 

"  I  recognized  the  handwriting,"  he  replied.  "  You 
had  written  to  him,  had  you  not?  " 

"  No,  Fergus;  but  he  releases  me."  With  a  sob  she 
added,  "  I'm  glad."  Then  burying  her  face  against 
his  breast,  "  I'm  not  crying  about  him.  I  never  loved 
him  —  but  everybody — " 

"  I  know,"  he  murmured  soothingly,  "  I  under- 
stand." 


XIV 

/CATHERINE  was  seated  on  the  sheltered  side  gal- 
^^  lery,  reading  a  letter  from  May  Burbank,  invit- 
ing her  to  come  to  the  city  and  make  her  a  visit.  It 
contained  innumerable  items  of  news,  for  May  had 
always  been  full  of  small  talk.  That  was  one  reason, 
Catherine  remembered,  why  she  was  popular.  Not 
malicious  nor  gossipy  in  an  unpleasant  sense,  but  full 
of  the  news  of  the  day. 

"  Do  come,"  the  letter  urged,  "  I  want  you  to  see 
my  little  house,  and  George  and  I  want  to  take  you  to 
the  opening  of  the  Country  Club.  It's  a  lovely  build- 
ing, right  on  the  Bayou  St.  John,  between  that  and 
the  City  Park.  I  know  you'd  like  it.  I  wish  you 
could  come  in  time  for  Belle  Snively's  wedding.  She's 
going  to  marry  a  cousin  of  your  old  beau,  Adolphus 
Banks.  He  is  coming  down  to  be  best  man  at  Belle's 
wedding,  and  that  girl  from  your  parish  that  she's 
always  visiting  —  that  Miss  Blaise  —  is  to  be  maid  of 
honor.  I  suppose  you  know  her,  but  Belle  said  you 
lived  on  different  bayous  and  didn't  see  each  other 
often.  Angelina  Horn  is  to  be  matron  of  honor.  It's 
to  be  a  very  grand  party  —  twelve  bridesmaids  and 
three  flower  girls.  Do  come,  Catherine.  We'll  have 

121 


122  THE  GRINDING 

such  lots  of  fun  sitting  in  the  gallery  and  looking  down 
on  the  procession.  It's  to  be  at  Trinity,  and  the 
chancel  will  be  a  dream,  I  know,  although  I  do  think 
they've  half  spoiled  it  putting  in  those  choir  stalls. 
Don't  you  remember  how  we  sat  up  there  at  Mary 
Harris's  wedding?  We  admired  the  groom  so  in  his 
white  suit,  and  all  those  other  navy  men  attending. 
That  was  the  prettiest  wedding  I  ever  saw,  but  it 
wasn't  grand  as  this  is  going  to  me.  They  say  the 
man  isn't  rich,  and  every  one's  wondering  how  Belle 
can  afford  such  grand  goings-on;  but  I'm  glad  she  can, 
if  she  wants  it.  It  must  be  a  satisfaction  to  be  so  fine 
once  in  one's  life,  though  I  can  say  from  experience 
that  a  little,  plain,  home  wedding  is  just  as  happy." 

The  letter  ran  on  for  several  pages  more  and  Cath- 
erine, with  a  pang  of  bitterness,  reflected  upon  the 
changes  in  her  life.  Belle  Snively,  that  girl  whom  she 
she  brought  into  prominence  by  including  her  in  her 
court,  had  not  invited  her,  Catherine  Maine,  to  her 
wedding!  And  Adolphus  Banks,  and  Modesta  Blaise 
would  play  important  parts  in  the  great  pageant!  Her 
lip  curled.  Common  people,  all  of  them,  she  thought, 
in  spite  of  their  pretentiousness.  But  May  was  not 
common.  How  kind  she  was!  In  an  agony  of  home- 
sickness, she  longed  to  go;  to  be  a  part  of  that  world 
once  more.  To  have  clothes  to  wear,  and  her  own 
beautiful  home,  and  to  be  the  Catherine  Maine  of 
other  days.  But  in  a  moment  she  realized  what  a 
humiliation  it  would  be  to  her  to  see  her  former  friends, 
who,  perhaps,  believed  Fergus  to  be  dishonest,  and 


THE  GRINDING  123 

who  would  laugh  at  her  poverty.  Friends?  No,  such 
people  were  not  friends.  She  didn't  belong  there  — 
nor  here  —  nor  anywhere. 

The  voices  of  Chukey  and  Marcelline  reached  her 
where  she  sat.  Marcelline  was  in  the  milk-shed,  car- 
rying pan  after  pan  into  the  cool,  dark  closet  under  the 
cistern.  The  mellow,  African  voice  would  grow  faint 
as  she  went  into  the  closet,  and  louder  as  she  came 
back  into  the  shed.  Finally  she  sat  down  and  began 
churning. 

"  Did  you  seen  the  ottermobile  go  up  the  high  road 
jes'  now?  "  Chukey  inquired  from  the  wash-house  door. 

"  I  smelled  it,"  Marcelline  answered  laconically. 

"  Miss  Modesta  shore  look  fine,"  said  Chukey. 

"  I  reckon  so,"  Marcelline  answered  coldly. 

"  Why  ain't  she  quality,  same's  our  Madam? " 
Chukey  asked. 

"  'Case  she  ain't;  tha's  why." 

"  But  she  shore  are  pretty,  an'  she  dress  fine,  an' 
Miss  Drusilla  Zeek  say  they  is  got  more  silver  dishes 
in  they  pantry  than  what  our  Madam  is  got  pots  in  her 
kitchen." 

"  Then  you  go  long  wuk  to  Gole  Mine,  effen  you 
craves  to,"  Marcelline  retorted  sternly.  "  You  wants 
to  know  why  they  isn't  quality?  'Case  they  money 
war  stole;  tha's  why.  Miss  Modesta 's  grandaddy  war 
overseer,  right  yeah  to  Esperance,  an'  he  stole  every 
blessed  thing  he  could  lay  han's  on.  I  know,  me,  'case 
my  gran-paw  war  one  er  the  things  what  he  stole.  An' 
he  hid  him  up  yonder  by  the  gas  pocket,  an'  he  'low  a 


124  THE  GRINDING 

alligator  had  et  him.  He  war  the  alligator,"  she  mut- 
tered. "  An'  that  war  the  very  fust  nigger  them  peo- 
ple owned  —  an'  you  asks  why  is  they  trash?  They 
has  bad  blood  —  them  people  —  thief's  blood;  low- 
down,  common,  white-trash  blood;  you  hear  me?  " 

"All  the  same,"  Chukey  retorted  defiantly,  "Mr. 
Ronal'  are  goin'  to  marry  Miss  Modesta." 

"  Well,"  Marcelline  answered  slowly,  "  effen  he  cuts 
off  his  nose,  I  don't  see  what  he'll  do  with  the  rest  of 
his  face." 

"All  the  same — "  Chukey  began,  when  the  sound 
of  wheels  interrupted  her,  and  up  the  path  from  the 
wagon  gate,  a  cart  slowly  wobbled  along  on  loose 
wheels  that  creaked  and  protested  at  every  revolu- 
tion. 

Catherine,  leaning  forward  to  catch  a  glimpse  of 
the  newcomer,  beheld  the  counterpart  of  Father  Time 
seated  in  a  two-wheeled  cart,  and  huddled  behind  him, 
a  sorrowful  congregation  of  chickens  and  turkeys.  He 
sat  bunched  up  with  his  chin  close  to  his  knees,  his 
hat  on  the  back  of  his  head,  and  a  corncob  pipe  in  his 
mouth. 

"  Howdy,  M'sieur  Poisson,"  Marcelline  said  politely 
as  the  cart  rounded  the  corner  of  the  house  and  drew 
up  at  the  milk  shed.  "  Is  you  brang  them  chicken 
you  promise?  " 

Very  deliberately  he  replied  to  her  question:  "  I  has 
brang  you  chicken  an'  tukkey.  Them  tukkey  was 
feed  on  puccon,  an'  my  wife  say  to  me,  '  Volcar,'  she 
say, '  you  is  trow  away  you  puccon.  Them  city  people 


THE  GRINDING  125 

don't  know  no  diffunce  twix'  tukkey  what  are  raise' 
on  puccon,  an'  tukkey  what  are  raise'  on  oyscher 
shell." 

"  This,"  Catherine  thought  bitterly,  "  is  all  that  is 
left  me  in  life.  These  are  my  companions.  There  are 
no  interests  left  me,"  and  she  was  blind  to  the  beauty 
all  about  her:  to  the  branches  swathed  in  trailing  moss; 
the  deep,  soft  grass  with  here  and  there  an  early  wild 
flower  showing  its  timid  face;  the  broad,  brown  fields 
stretching  to  the  foot  of  the  somber  forest.  Unnotic- 
ing,  she  breathed  the  fragrance  of  the  upturned  soil 
and  the  faint  perfume  of  the  feathery  foliage.  She  was 
deaf  to  the  soft,  mysterious  sounds  of  nature  —  those 
sounds  which  enhance  the  stillness:  the  twittering  of 
birds,  the  little  creakings  and  rustlings  of  the  trees. 
Of  all  these  things,  she  was  unconscious,  wrapped  only 
in  her  passionate  loneliness. 

Marcelline  rose  from  her  churning,  and  in  spite  of  the 
turkeys'  protesting  gobbles,  felt  of  their  razor-like 
breast  bones.  "  They's  turr'ble  thin,  M'sieur  Pois- 
son,"  she  said,  "  an'  they  looks  turr'ble  ole.  I  don't 
reckon  the  Madam  crave  to  have  no  such  Methusalems 
in  her  chicken  yard." 

"  Methusalems!  "  he  repeated  indignantly,  "  they  is 
jes'  crezzy  to  get  them  to  Gole  Mine." 

"  Then  you  bes'  carry  them  to  Gole  Mine,"  she  re- 
plied. 

Ananias  now  joined  the  group.  "  They  looks  like 
they  has  the  pip,"  he  observed  disparagingly. 

"  Nias,"  said  Monsieur  Poisson,  ignoring  this  last 


126  THE  GRINDING 

insult,  "  is  you  saw  my  red  cow  anywheres?  He  are 
los',  now,  it  are  two  day." 

Ananias  shook  his  head,  still  examining  the  turkeys. 
"  They  looks  mighty  pindlin'  an'  ageable  to  me,"  he  re- 
marked. 

"  Nias,"  Monsieur  Poisson  resumed,  "  Ef  my  red 
cow  come  trapezin'  anywheres  roun'  yere,  you  push 
him  along  to'ards  the  Ole  Buryin'  Groun',  you  hear? 
He  are  los',  an'  I  don'  know  who's  got  him." 

"  I  reckon  your  cow  are  daid,"  Ananias  replied  by 
way  of  comfort.  "  I  seen  a  flock  of  buzzards  over  yon- 
der by  the  swamp;  soon,  this  mornin'." 

Chukey  now  joined  the  group  by  the  wagon.  "  I 
seen  M'sieur  Pierre  up  to  Bergerac,  las'  Sunday,"  she 
said.  "  He  sure  do  look  fine  an'  peart.  They  tells  me 
he  are  wukkin'  to  the  bank." 

Monsieur  Poisson  nodded  slowly.  "  My  boy  Pierre 
are  the  smartes'  boy  on  the  bayou,"  he  agreed.  "  They 
is  pay  him  forty  dollar  a  mont',  an'  ef  he  ax  fur  it, 
they  is  goin'  to  give  him  —  I  dunno  how  much." 

"  I'd  ax  fur  it;  me,"  said  Ananias.  "  An'  does  they 
eat  him,  M'sieur  Poisson?  " 

"  At  the  moment,"  Monsieur  Poisson  replied,  puffing 
ruminatively,  "  he  eat  himself.  More  later,  he  will  be 
—  I  don't  know  what.  An'  then  they  will  eat  him  to 
the  hotel." 

This  statement  produced  a  sensation  among  his 
hearers. 

"  You  sure  mus'  be  proud,  M'sieur  Poisson,"  Chukey 
said  deferentially. 


THE  GRINDING  127 

The  old  man  nodded  and  taking  his  pipe  from  his 
mouth,  spat  musingly.  "  They  was  over  by  the 
swamp?  "  he  questioned  as  he  drew  up  the  lines. 

"  Yassir,"  Ananias  replied  politely,  "  nigh  on  to 
M'sieur  Zelinka's  house.  A  whole  flock  —  hit  look 
like  all  the  buzzards  in  this  part  er  the  parish  war 
over  yonder  to  a  camp  meetin'.  Hit  mus'  er  ben  you 
red  cow,  I  reckon." 

Slowly  Monsieur  Poisson  wobbled  away,  his  eyes 
fixed  on  the  distant  horizon  in  search  of  the  flock  of 
buzzards  which  would  serve  as  a  guide  in  the  search 
for  his  cow. 

"  Ain't  that  a  shame?  "  Chukey  commented,  watch- 
ing the  retreating  figure,  "  M'sieur  Pierre  look  jes'  ez 
sassy  as  a  jay  bird,  with  a  gole  watch  chain,  an'  grease 
on  his  hair.  An'  look  at  his  paw!  " 

"  He  look  like  what  he  are,"  Ananias  interrupted. 
"  He  look  like  a  chicken  gentleman,  an'  tha's  what  he 
are." 

"  No  use  strainin'  fer  a  persimmon  what's  beyond 
you  reach,"  Marcelline  said  thoughtfully.  "  Ef  you 
borrows  somebody  else's  pole  to  knock  it  down  with, 
anybody  kin  pick  it  up.  M'sieur  Pierre  ain't  goin'  to 
set  the  bayou  afire,  fer  all  the  bear's  grease  on  his 
haid.  I  reckon  his  homely  brother  Zelinka'll  out-hoe 
him  —  specially  sence  he've  marry  Ottinsia  Lirette,  a 
good,  homely  girl  what  don't  let  the  grass  grow  in 
under  her  feet.  Heap  er  times,  it's  lucky  to  be 
homely." 

"  Well,"  said  Chukey,  "  plenty  folks  is  lucky,  then." 


128  THE  GRINDING 

From  across  the  bayou  came  the  sound  of  a  church 
bell,  now  loud,  now  faint,  as  the  breeze  brought  it  or 
carried  it  away.  Marcelline  stood,  her  arms  crossed 
upon  her  breast,  listening.  "  Who  that  bell  a-tollin' 
for,  I  wonder,"  she  said. 

Chukey  turned  her  inky  face  toward  the  sound  and 
listened.  "  You  know  who  it  are?  "  she  hazarded. 
"  I  lay  hit  are  ole  M'sieur  Cyrille  Thibodaux,  over  to 
Bayou  Blanc.  He  war  tuk  mighty  bad  yestiddy,  an' 
they  sont  fur  Miss  Victorine  to  come  an'  help  nuss 
him.  He  mus'  be  daid.  Uhn!  Uhn!  Ain't  that 
turr'ble?  " 

"  No,"  said  Marcelline,  "  tha's  fair.  We  all  has  to 
die,  an'  hit  war  his  turn." 

But  it  was  not  old  Monsieur  Thibodaux,  for  pres- 
ently there  swept  up  the  bayou  a  fleet  of  boats,  sailing 
slowly  along.  They  stopped  at  the  church  landing. 
Then  the  men  lifted  a  coffin  from  the  deck  of  the  first 
boat  and  carried  it  up  the  bank  into  the  church.  The 
voice  of  Pere  Ignace,  intoning  the  service,  reached 
Catherine  where  she  sat  listening  with  a  faint,  detached 
interest.  Presently  she  heard  a  sound  of  chanting,  a 
wavering,  plaintive  sound,  and  soon  thereafter  the  little 
group  of  people  came  out  of  the  church  and  walked 
slowly  down  the  bank.  First,  Pere  Ignace,  then  the 
pall  bearers  with  the  coffin  which  they  placed  on  a 
sort  of  platform  and  covered  with  a  white  cloth,  then 
the  rest  of  the  company,  silently  taking  their  places. 
The  boats  were  loosed  from  their  moorings  and  swept 


THE  GRINDING  129 

majestically  onward,  the  vast,  crimson  sails  and  the 
deep  blue  sky  above  reflected  in  the  brown  bosom  of 
the  bayou  with  a  pomp  of  coloring  too  splendid  for 
any  but  the  royal  dead. 


XV 

WHILE  the  cool,  spring  weather  lasted,  there  were 
long  evenings  which  Fergus  and  Catherine  spent 
together.  Unconscious  of  her  own  selfishness,  she 
would  interrupt  his  writing  to  pour  out  to  him  —  her 
one  companion  and  friend  —  the  tale  of  her  loneliness 
and  ennui.  He  had  ceased  to  remonstrate  or  suggest 
any  cure  for  her  troubles,  but,  looking  up  from  his 
work,  would  listen  in  silence  or  with  an  occasional  word 
of  sympathy.  So  absorbed  was  she  in  her  own  lamen- 
tations, in  an  unrecognized  enjoyment,  perhaps,  of  her 
self-pity,  that  she  failed  to  perceive  the  weariness  in 
his  tone.  Once,  however,  when  Ronald  happened  to 
be  with  them  (a  rare  occurrence  now-a-days)  she  was 
startled  into  silence  by  the  expression  of  his  stern  gray 
eyes.  What  was  he  thinking,  she  wondered.  He  had 
said  nothing,  but  his  very  silence,  she  thought,  implied 
that  she  ought  to  find  occupation  for  those  interminable 
hours  of  which  she  complained.  What  ought  she  to 
do,  she  wondered.  She,  Catherine  Maine,  who  had 
never  been  taught  to  work.  Did  he  think  she  ought 
to  go  out  like  the  bayou  women  and  labor  in  the  fields? 
What  was  this  new  fetish  of  efficiency  that  he  wor- 
shipped? " 

130 


THE  GRINDING  131 

The  others  began  talking.  They  were  wondering 
if  they  could  rent  a  dredge  boat,  as  they  were  unable 
to  buy  one. 

"  Blaise  has  one,"  Ronald  said.  "  I  think  he'd  let 
us  have  it  for  a  week  or  so  at  a  reasonable  price.  I'll 
ask  him  to-morrow,  and  wouldn't  it  be  well  at  the  same 
time  to  speak  to  him  about  the  veterinary  surgeon 
that's  coming  down  to  vaccinate  his  stock?  Undoubt- 
edly there  is  charbon  in  this  parish,  and  we  can't  afford 
to  lose  our  mules." 

"  How  perfectly  hideous  to  have  to  think  of  such 
things!  "  Catherine  exclaimed.  "  Vaccinating  mules!  " 
She  shuddered.  "  Going  over  and  over  the  same 
things,  day  after  day.  Working  with  such  poor  mate- 
rials —  there's  nothing  great  and  fine  in  such  a  life." 

"  I  don't  agree  with  you,  Cathie,"  Fergus  interposed 
gently.  "  I  think  it  is  '  great  and  fine '  to  get  good 
results  out  of  poor  materials.  Better,  probably  than 
it  would  have  been  to  finish  my  book." 

The  following  day  the  weather  changed  as  if  a  win- 
dow had  opened  and  summer  poured  through.  The 
birds  sang,  the  bees  hummed,  the  flowers  blossomed, 
but  with  the  advent  of  these  lovely  things,  all  the 
insect  world  awoke  and  Catherine  found  herself  robbed 
of  her  evenings;  for  at  twilight,  the  air  was  filled  with 
mosquitoes  humming  in  tall  columns  above  her  head; 
nipping  and  stinging  her  unbearably,  until,  in  self- 
defense,  she  was  driven  to  adopt  the  early  hours  of  the 
bayou  people. 

"  I  certainly  never  imagined  I'd  have  to  go  to  bed 


132  THE  GRINDING 

with  the  chickens,"  she  complained,  "  and  hide  under  a 
mosquito  bar  to  escape  the  mosquitoes." 

"  We  have  merely  advanced  the  clock,"  Ronald  de- 
clared. "  Our  days  begin  with  sunrise;  that's  the  only 
difference.  We  really  have  more  hours  for  work." 

"  Yes,  for  work,"  she  repeated  in  an  aggrieved  tone, 
but  later  she  pondered  his  words.  He  thought  of  noth- 
ing but  work,  she  reflected,  and  Fergus  thought  of  noth- 
ing else.  There  was  no  room  left  in  their  scheme  of 
life  for  any  of  the  pleasant  things.  It  was  all  a  strug- 
gle and  a  battle  and  Ronald  apparently  thought  she 
ought  to  plunge  in  and  do  as  they  did.  Very  well,  she 
would.  She  would  work  so  hard  that  her  health  would 
fail,  and  then  even  he  would  be  sorry  for  the  hard- 
ships she  had  endured,  and  the  unbearable  loneliness. 
She  would  work  until  her  hands  were  blistered;  until 
they  bled.  Yes,  she  would  work  until  Ronald  himself 
begged  her  to  stop. 

In  pursuance  of  this  plan,  she  gathered  an  armful 
of  yellow  jessamines  and  went  up  the  steep  stairs  to 
his  room.  Pausing  in  the  doorway,  she  looked  at  the 
comfortless  scene.  Boots  and  shoes  were  scattered 
about;  soiled  clothing  lay  heaped  in  one  corner;  pipe, 
collar  buttons,  a  broken  knife,  odds  and  ends  of  every 
sort  littered  the  dusty  mantel-piece.  The  mouldy 
mirror  gave  a  shadowy  reflection  of  her  figure  as  she 
stood,  her  arms  full  of  flowers.  She  would  begin  with 
the  mirror,  she  determined.  She  would  twine  long 
sprays  of  jessamine  around  the  frame  to  hide  the  places 
where  the  gilding  had  flaked  off. 


THE  GRINDING  133 

In  order  to  do  this,  she  must  stand  on  a  chair.  The 
only  one  at  hand  was  covered  by  a  pile  of  clean  cloth- 
ing Chukey  had  deposited  on  it,  days  and  days  ago. 
In  fact,  it  seemed  an  accumulation  from  several  weeks 
of  washing.  Catherine  took  the  pryamid  of  starched 
linen  and  heaped  it  on  a  shelf  in  the  armoire.  It  did 
not  as  yet  occur  to  her  that  she  might  mend  the  frayed 
and  torn  garments,  sew  on  the  buttons  and  darn  the 
socks.  The  thought  of  making  herself  useful  was  still 
nebulous  and  more  in  the  way  of  self-justification  than 
anything  else. 

She  was  crowding  the  clean  shirts  on  to  one  of  the 
shelves  of  the  armoire,  when  an  avalanche  descended 
upon  her  from  above:  collars,  cuffs,  all  the  odds  and 
ends  of  clothing  that  men  relegate  to  the  upper  shelves, 
resolving  to  use  them  when  the  present  supply  is  worn 
out.  She  was  gathering  them  up  from  the  floor,  think- 
ing that  he  had  a  needless  quantity,  when  her  mind 
reverted  to  the  fact  that  she  had  come,  not  to  put  the 
room  in  order,  but  to  make  it  attractive.  So,  leaving 
the  wreckage  where  it  had  fallen,  she  crossed  the  room 
to  get  the  flowers  which  she  had  laid  on  the  table  be- 
tween the  two  windows.  At  this  moment,  a  breeze, 
laden  with  the  scent  of  orange  blossoms,  swept  some 
papers  to  the  floor.  Picking  them  up,  she  replaced 
them  on  the  table,  and  as  she  did  so,  her  eyes  were 
drawn  to  a  signature  in  an  exaggeratedly  angular  hand: 
"  As  ever,  Modesta." 

It  was  written  on  the  back  of  a  photograph.  With- 
out intending  anything  dishonorable,  Catherine  studied 


134  THE  GRINDING 

the  snap  shot  of  a  group  on  board  the  Blaises'  launch. 
In  the  center  was  Modesta  Blaise,  all  in  white  and 
showing  her  teeth:  supposedly  laughing.  In  fact,  all  of 
the  group  were  laughing.  What  was  there  so  amusing 
about  having  a  snap-shot  taken  aboard  a  launch? 
Catherine  questioned  scornfully  while  studying  Mod- 
esta's  face.  Yes,  it  was  pretty;  a  plebeian,  dimpled 
prettiness,  sure  to  be  lost  in  embonpoint  before  she 
was  ten  years  older.  The  picture  looked  her  straight 
in  the  eyes,  laughing.  "  As  ever,"  Catherine  thought 
with  a  pang.  Yes,  the  overseer's  daughter  had 
triumphed.  She  herself  had  made  no  outward  effort 
to  retain  Ronald.  On  the  contrary,  she  had  maintained 
that  she  did  not  wish  him  to  stay  in  the  country;  that 
he  was  at  perfect  liberty  to  leave  Esperance,  that,  in 
fact,  it  was  a  matter  of  utter  indifference  to  her  whether 
he  went  or  stayed.  But  now,  as  she  gazed  at  that 
laughing,  triumphant  face,  and  read  those  words,  "  As 
ever,  Modesta";  as  she  realized  that  he  had  actually 
accepted  his  freedom  from  her,  a  feeling  of  bewilder- 
ment came  upon  her,  followed  by  a  deep  sense  of  isola- 
tion. So  alone,  she  thought,  so  alone! 

Under  the  window,  the  mellow  voices  of  Marcelline 
and  Chukey  rose  in  conversation. 

"  Does  you  know  who  that  were  they  bury  yestiddy, 
Miss  Marcelline?  "  Chukey  was  saying. 

"  I  isn't  year  tell,"  Marcelline  replied,  pausing  in 
the  scrubbing  of  her  milk  pans. 

"  Miss  'Ortense  Trosclair,"  said  Chukey  with  evident 
enjoyment  of  the  sensation  she  was  producing. 


THE  GRINDING  135 

"  Fer  the  Lawd's  sake!  "  Marcelline  ejaculated, 
dropping  the  scrubbing  brush  with  a  rattling  sound. 
After  an  instant's  silence,  she  said,  "  You  means 
the  young  Madam  —  not  Miss  Hortense.  It  was 
Miss  Rosaline  what  was  pindlin' — Not  Miss  Hor- 
tense." 

"  Hit  were  Miss  'Ortense  what  die,"  Chukey  per- 
sisted. "  The  young  Madam  are  as  peart  as  ever,  an' 
more  pearter,  now  Miss  'Ortense  are  daid." 

"  Who  tole  you  all  them  tales,  Chukey?  "  Marcelline 
asked  in  a  stern  voice. 

"  My  ole  man  done  tole  me,  an'  wha's  more,  he  ben 
down  yonder,  an'  he  seen  Unc'  Timothy  Brim,  an' 
pears  like  it  were  Mr.  Ovide  what  found  her  a-settin' 
in  her  cheer,  a-smilin',  like  she  were  asleep.  My  ole 
man  went  down  yonder  a-fishin'  yestiddy." 

"  Fer  the  Lawd's  sake!  "  Marcelline  repeated,  slowly 
resuming  her  work.  "  I  reckon  she  are  glad,"  she 
added  after  a  long  pause. 

"  I  reckon  so,"  Chukey  agreed  cheerfully.  "  The 
young  Madam  were  always  a-tellin'  her  how  it  were 
charity  to  keep  her  an' — " 

"  Well,  the  young  Madam  don't  need  to  do  no  more 
charity.  An'  Miss  Hortense  don't  have  to  swallow  no 
more  of  them  dry  crust.  When  people  like  the  young 
Madam  helps  you,  they  crams  they  charity  down  you 
throat  half  a  dozen  times.  You  has  to  swallow  them 
mouldy  crust  five  or  six  times,  an'  you  ain't  never  sure 
it  ain't  a-goin' to  choke  you.  An' she  are  daid!  Uhn! 
Uhn!  " 


136  THE  GRINDING 

"  How  come  the  Trosclairs  doesn't  bury  theyselves 
to  home  like  quality?  "  Chukey  demanded. 

"  Hit  war  this-a-way,"  Marcelline  answered  in  a 
slow,  solemn  voice.  "Time  er  the  big  storm,  the 
tombs  to  Malabar  got  all  wash  away.  Then  the  crop 
fail,  an'  they-alls  'gun  to  git  porer  an'  porer,  an'  they- 
alls  'lowed  they  w'a'nt  goin'  to  be  everlastin'  buildin' 
tombses  jes'  to  wash  away;  an'  with  that,  they  tuk  an' 
build  up  to  the  Ole  Buryin'  Groun'.  An'  sence  then, 
they  ain't  made  no  more  good  crops.  'Taint  good  to 
get  mad  at  God  an'  make  you  brags  what  you  is  goin' 
to  do.  But,"  with  a  deep  sigh  that  was  almost  a  groan, 
"heap  er  times  we  all  is  sorry  fur  what  we  has  did; 
niggers,  an'  trash,  an'  quality.  I  reckon  they  was 
sorry,  plenty  times,  that  they  'gun  to  bury  theyselves 
up  yonder  like  trash.  Quality  ain't  got  no  call  to  mix 
up  with  trash,  not  even  when  it's  daid.  An'  now  Miss 
Hortense  are  there  —  the  purties'  an'  the  proudes'  of 
them  all.  But  I  reckon  she  war  so  heart-hurted  she 
didn't  keer  whar  they  bury  her.  When  she  went  on 
that  far  journey,  to  them  furrin  parts,  she  war  purtier'n 
a  angel." 

"  She  didn't  favor  no  angel  to  me,"  Chukey  inter- 
rupted Marcelline's  soliloquy. 

"  Huhn?  "  Marcelline  grunted  interrogatively.  Then, 
with  sudden  severity,  "You  hesh  that  nonsense, 
Chukey." 

:cYas'm,  she  war  purty,  I  reckon,  but  not  angel- 
purty.  She  war  too  sinful.  She  didn't  have  no 
call—" 


THE  GRINDING  137 

"  Now  you  hesh,  Chukey!  "  Marcelline  commanded. 
"  Remember,  the  tongue  are  a  oily  an'  a  slippery  mem- 
ber, but  it  ain't  goin'  to  wag  lessen  you  makes  it.  Ef 
you  speaks  them  hard  words,  you  is  goin'  to  be  sorry 
fer  it,  same's  the  young  Madam  are  goin'  to  be  sorry. 
An'  sorry  are  a  mighty  dry  crust  to  swallow.  But 
you  mark  my  words,  when  we-all  gits  to  heaven,  an' 
sets  to  the  table  of  the  Lawd,  with  crownds  on  our 
haids,  an'  harps  in  our  moufs,  Miss  Hortense  will  be 
there.  She'll  sure  be  there." 

Their  voices  rose  in  mellow  cadence  to  where  Cath- 
erine stood,  and  gradually  their  meaning  penetrated 
her  soul.  Hortense  Trosclair  was  dead!  Hortense 
Trosclair,  whom  she  loved,  whose  love  she  had  cov- 
eted. Dead!  Dead!  The  blight  that  fell  on  every- 
thing belonging  to  her,  had  fallen  on  Hortense  Tros- 
clair. "  Because  I  loved  her!  "  she  thought.  There 
was  a  fierce  pang  in  her  grief  as  of  the  hunted  creature 
that  could  find  no  hiding  place.  "  She  is  dead,"  she 
thought  with  lips  compressed  to  keep  herself  from 
crying  out,  "  and  over  there  — " 

She  turned  away  from  the  window  as  she  caught  a 
distant  gleam  of  the  red  roof  of  Gold  Mine  shining 
through  the  trees  like  a  splotch  of  blood. 


XVI 

ANANIAS  looked  surprised  when,  the  following 
morning,  Catherine  told  him  to  get  ready  to  drive 
to  the  Old  Burying  Ground,  and  to  bring  a  rose  bush 
from  the  garden  to  plant  beside  a  grave.  She  made 
no  explanations.  Why  should  she  acknowledge  that, 
in  spite  of  the  humiliating  visit  to  Malabar,  she  had 
still  cherished  a  hope  of  gaining  Hortense  Trosclair's 
friendship?  Why  should  she  lay  bare  her  soul?  She 
must  fight  her  battle  alone. 

After  they  had  started,  she  told  him  to  go  back  and 
get  her  a  young  cedar  tree.  Although  she  could  not 
have  explained  the  impulse,  it  seemed  to  her  that  the 
dark,  mysterious  cedar  was  more  appropriate  to  that 
silent  soul  than  the  rose  bush  she  was  bringing.  Ana- 
nias, deeply  versed  in  plantation  lore,  studied  her  coun- 
tenance for  a  clue  to  her  conduct.  He  knew  that  to 
plant  a  cedar  tree  invariably  brought  bad  luck;  but 
how  could  it  injure  the  dead?  And  whom  did  she 
wish  to  harm?  Then,  remembering  the  recent  funeral, 
and  connecting  that  with  the  trip  to  Malabar,  he  ar- 
rived at  a  partial  truth.  It  was  beside  Hortense  Tros- 
clair's tomb  she  wished  to  plant  it.  And,  putting  two 
and  two  together,  recalling  the  return  in  the  early 
morning,  the  all-night  journey,  the  proverbial  inhos- 

138 


THE  GRINDING  139 

pitality  of  the  Trosclairs,  he  decided  that  his  young 
Madam  was  wreaking  a  belated  vengeance  upon  her 
distant  kinswoman. 

Pondering  these  things,  he  returned,  cedar  tree  in 
hand,  and  Catherine,  looking  back,  saw  him  shake  his 
head  as  he  talked  to  himself.  Certainly,  he  thought, 
it  was  unlike  a  quality  lady  to  be  "  conjuring  "  any 
one,  alive  or  dead.  But  the  impulse  of  revenge,  so 
deeply  imbedded  in  the  primitive  mind,  was  one  he 
could  understand,  and  even  while  he  recognized  it  as 
one  of  the  unconfessed  motives  of  the  "  quality,"  he 
regarded  his  mistress  with  a  new  respect. 

It  was  still  so  early  that,  as  they  followed  the  wind- 
ings of  the  bayou,  the  dew  was  not  yet  dried  on  the 
grass.  Over  all  the  vegetation  spread  a  soft,  purplish 
haze,  like  the  bloom  of  the  plum,  and  the  early  sun- 
light striking  on  the  polished  surface  of  the  lily  leaves, 
on  the  points  of  the  yuccas  and  palmettoes  where  drops 
of  dew  were  hanging,  flashed  back  a  myriad  jewels  of 
ruby  and  emerald  and  sapphire.  Over  all  the  distant 
landscape  there  was  a  soft  blur  of  mist  above  which 
the  tree  tops  loomed  like  shadowy  islands. 

The  road  ran  along  the  edge  of  the  bayou  for  sev- 
eral miles  above  the  Catholic  church,  then  it  went 
through  a  tract  of  thick  woods  and  when  it  came  out 
at  the  other  side,  it  had  left  the  bayou  some  distance 
on  the  right  and  was  skirting  the  rear  of  the  Old  Bury- 
ing Ground.  Through  a  break  in  the  trees,  she  saw 
the  tall,  white  cross  on  the  bayou's  bank,  but  on  this 
side,  within  the  black  picket  fence,  rose  another  cross 


140  THE  GRINDING 

about  twenty  feet  high,  on  which  was  an  attenuated 
figure  painted  in  bright  colors  and  emphazing  the  grue- 
some details  of  wounds  and  blood.  The  mournful 
eyes  seemed  to  look  down  on  the  straggling  paths  bor- 
dered with  tombs  on  which  hung  wreaths  of  black  and 
white  beads  with  the  interwoven  words:  "  Ma  Mere" 
"  Mon  Pere,"  "  Ma  Soeur,"  "  Mon  Frere,"  or  most  fre- 
quently of  all,  the  word  "  Regrets,"  so  inadequate  to 
the  Anglo-Saxon  mind. 

Catherine  dismounted  at  the  gate,  passing  a  covered 
wagon  painted  black,  which  she  knew  to  be  the  "  un- 
dertaker's wagon,"  and  at  a  distance  she  saw  a  group 
of  mourners  about  an  open  grave.  Following  Ananias 
to  the  opposite  side  of  the  Burying  Ground,  she 
stopped  at  a  neglected-looking  brick  tomb.  Some  ef- 
fort had  recently  been  made  to  repair  it,  and  propped 
against  one  corner,  was  a  broken  urn  filled  with 
flowers.  The  stone  door  was  covered  with  inscriptions, 
and  at  the  bottom  was  the  freshly  cut  name  of  Hortense 
Felicie  Trosclair.  Nothing  else.  No  date,  no  com- 
ment of  any  sort,  no  word  of  sorrow  or  of  hope. 

At  Catherine's  bidding,  Ananias  planted  the  rose 
tree,  then  murmuring  a  charm  under  his  breath  to 
ward  off  any  possible  harm,  he  planted  the  cedar.  As 
he  was  pressing  down  the  loose  earth  with  his  foot,  a 
voice  reached  them  —  a  voice  of  prayer.  She  had 
barely  noticed  the  little  group  beside  an  open  grave, 
so  deep  was  her  own  absorption,  but  now  she  read  the 
story  of  their  lives  in  the  poor,  flimsy  mourning  gar- 
ments, the  pale,  pinched  faces,  the  toil-hardened  hands. 


THE  GRINDING  141 

Tears  ran  down  their  faces  as  they  knelt  in  prayer  and 
Catherine,  silently  joining  in  their  petition,  -was  uncon- 
scious of  the  tears  on  her  own  cheeks.  Then,  as  she 
stood  praying,  though  with  no  outward  sign  of  prayer, 
a  silence  seemed  to  steal  into  her  soul.  She  might 
not,  herself,  have  called  it  resignation,  but  the  storm 
and  anger  and  despair  of  the  past  weeks,  seemed,  for 
the  moment,  a  part  of  another  life  than  hers.  She  felt 
that  she  belonged  with  these  unknown  toilers  —  the 
patient  children  of  the  soil.  Without  a  vestige  of 
pride  —  that  cruel  pride  that  made  her  feel  herself 
a  being  apart,  a  creature  singled  out  for  suffering, 
alone  and  above  the  ignorant  bayou  people  —  she 
turned  to  go,  and  with  a  last,  unspoken  farewell  to 
Hortense  Trosclair,  she  walked  quietly  away,  giving  a 
glance  of  gentle  sympathy  to  the  group  now  filing  out 
of  the  graveyard  with  their  burden  of  want  and  toil 
and  bereavement. 

The  dew  had  dried  on  the  grass  as  they  drove  home- 
ward. From  time  to  time,  Ananias  gave  a  backward 
glance  as  if  to  study  the  landscape;  in  reality,  to 
scrutinize  his  mistress's  face.  If  he  had  rightly  under- 
stood the  mystery  of  the  cedar  tree,  why  had  she  wept 
beside  the  tomb?  And  why  was  she  now  so  calm  and 
still?  There  was  no  trace  of  joy  or  triumph  in  her 
expression,  as  of  satisfied  revenge.  What  was  the 
meaning  of  it  all? 

They  approached  the  wooded  stretch  and  drove 
noislessly  over  the  thick  carpet  of  leaves.  Suddenly, 
at  no  great  distance,  a  blinding  light  flashed  up,  there 


142  THE  GRINDING 

was  a  roaring  of  flames,  a  shout,  and  two  men  dashed 
out  of  the  thicket  into  the  road. 

"  The  gas  pocket!  "  Ananias  ejaculated. 

One  of  the  men  was  tall  and  black-haired,  with  a 
large,  pale  face.  The  other  was  a  small,  weazened 
person  with  gray  hair.  But  as  quickly  as  they  had 
appeared,  they  dashed  back  out  of  sight,  and  it  was 
doubtful  whether  they  had  noticed  the  vehicle  at  the 
turn  of  the  road.  "Uhn!  Uhn!  "  Ananias  piped  in 
his  mournful  treble,  "  I  lay  them  two  is  conjurin' 
you-alls  gas  pocket.  Mr.  Tobias  ain't  got  no  call  to 
be  foolin'  long  of  you-alls  woods,  an'  neither  hasn't  Mr. 
Marks." 

"  What  was  that  fire?  "  Catherine  asked. 

"  The  Gas  Pocket." 

"  I  don't  understand.     What  is  a  gas  pocket?  " 

"  It  are  a  pond  uv  water  —  mighty  deep  an'  dark  — 
an'  effen  you  lights  a  leaf  or  anythin',  an'  draps  it  top 
er  the  water,  hit  burn  like  you  seen  it."  Then  he  added 
with  a  chuckle,  "  They  wasn't  lookin'  fer  no  sech 
vi-g'rous  noise.  Hit  skeered  'em." 

"Ananias,"  she  said,  "was  that  really  Mr.  Marc 
Sutton?  Have  you  ever  seen  him?  " 

"Who?  Mr.  Marks?  Sure  I  has  seen  him.  I 
seen  him  las'  week,  a-pyrootin'  roun'  on  tother  bayou 
with  Miss  Modesta.  Sure  I  has  seen  him.  Yas'm, 
that  were  him." 

So  Mark  Sutton  had  been  out  in  this  parish,  so 
near,  and  yet  had  made  no  effort  to  see  her  who  was  his 
queen!  Looking  back,  as  the  road  wound  toward  the 


THE  GRINDING  143 

bayou,  she  saw  the  red  light  of  the  gas  flames  still 
gleaming  between  the  trees.  And  as  she  looked,  the 
world  came  crowding  upon  her  once  more;  with  the 
keen,  pressing  anxieties  of  her  present  life. 

"Oh,"  she  thought,  "if  only  Tom  Ogers  would 
come!  " 


XVII 

AS  the  season  progressed  and  the  need  of  money  for 
cultivating  the  crop  grew  more  pressing,  the 
thoughts  of  all  centered  more  and  more  on  the  coming 
of  Tom  Ogers.  If  only  he  could  see  Esperance  for 
himself,  they  said,  he  would  surely  advance  the  neces- 
sary amount.  But  week  after  week  passed  and  no 
answer  came  to  Ronald's  letters.  The  strain  of  ex- 
pectancy was  so  acute  that  there  was  no  longer  a 
pretence  of  concealing  it.  On  mail  day,  Fergus  and 
Ronald  came  to  the  house  early,  and  Catherine  flitted 
back  and  forth,  to  and  from  the  gate,  nervously  watch- 
ing for  Pidgeon. 

May  came  and  still  no  word  from  Tom  Ogers.  One 
evening  when  Catherine  was  watching  at  the  gate,  Miss 
Victorine  approached  from  up  the  bayou,  riding  in 
her  rickety  jumper,  bowing  and  smiling  and  waving  a 
long  stalk  tipped  with  a  cluster  of  flowers.  The  back 
of  the  vehicle  was  bristling  with  vegetables  which  pro- 
truded from  under  the  seat. 

"  Good  evening,  Miss  Victorine,"  said  Catherine, 
going  out  to  the  roadside  to  shake  hands  with  the 
old  lady,  "  did  you  pass  Pidgeon  on  the  road?  " 

"  No,"  Miss  Victorine  acknowledged  with  regret. 
"  Hi  didn't  went  that  way.  Hi  cross  the  other  bridge 

144 


THE  GRINDING  145 

an'  then  I  went  back  in  the  wood,  back  of  the  Ole 
Buryin'  Groun'  to  buy  some  chicken  of  M'sieur  Pois- 
son.  He  tole  my  Placide  he  have  plenty  Rhode  Red 
Islan's." 

"  Oh,  has  he?  "  Catherine  exclaimed  with  interest. 
"  Marcelline  says  I  ought  to  try  to  get  some  for  my 
chicken  yard." 

"They  ain't  Rhode  Red  Islan's,"  said  Miss  Vic- 
torine;  "  he  mek  a  mistake  when  he  call  them  that." 

"  What  are  they?  " 

"Chicken;  jes'  nothin'  but  chicken." 

"  I  don't  think  he's  honest,"  said  Catherine.  "  He 
promised  to  bring  us  some  young  chickens  and  turkeys 
—  and  you  ought  to  have  seen  them." 

"  I  did.  He  try  to  sell  them  to  me.  He  is  hones', 
if  you  will,  Mees  Catrine,  but  they  is  different  kind  of 
hones'.  They  is  hones'  what  you  can  buy  from  in 
the  dark,  an'  they  is  hones'  what  oblige  you  to  carry  a 
lantern." 

"  I  call  that  dishonest,"  Catherine  declared  with  em- 
phasis. 

"  Yes,''  Miss  Victorine  agreed  regretfully;  "  yes,  but 
when  a  family  is  very  poor,  but  very,  very  poor  an' 
passablement  large  —  sixteen  children  — " 

"  Sixteen!  "  Catherine  ejaculated.  "  But  that  is  hor- 
rible." 

"  Large  family  is  the  fashion  on  the  bayou,"  Miss 
Victorine  said  with  her  cheery  smile.  "  On  Bayou 
Blanc,  near  the  Gulf,  is  the  family  Jabart  with  twenty- 
three  children.  An'  one  day  a  peddler  pass  by  —  they 


146  THE  GRINDING 

don't  often  went  so  far  —  an'  he  persuade  the  father 
to  buy  spectacle  for  all  his  family  him,  his  ole  lady, 
an'  twenty-three  children.  The  peddler  tell  him,  ef 
they  didn't  need  them  spectacle  right  now,  they  might 
before  he  pass  by  again.  An'  every  Sunday  an'  every 
feast  day,  when  they  don't  have  to  work  in  the  fieP, 
they  wears  them  spectacle;  all,  even  the  little  one! 
Twenty-five  pair  of  spectacle  roun'  that  table.  I  has 
seen  them;  me.  They  is  far-off  cousin  to  the  family 
Poisson.  An  M'sieur  Poisson  don't  know  no  better 
—  or  if  he  do,  he  think  he  will  be  forgive  because  he 
is  so  poor  an'  'ave  so  many  children." 

"  That  doesn't  excuse  him,"  Catherine  insisted  with 
the  stern  implacability  of  youth. 

Miss  Victorine  looked  across  the  fields.  "  Per'aps, 
Mees  Catrine,"  she  suggested  gently,  "  it  is  not  best  to 
judge.  Way  off  yonder  in  the  country  where  they 
don't  never  see  nobody  but  the  peddler  —  an'  he  jes' 
come  to  cheat  them  —  they  ain't  got  no  way  of 
knowin'  the  world  like  we  has.  An'  they  is  so  poor! 
I  reckon  the  family  Jabart  went  hongry  for  days  on 
top  of  days,  to  pay  for  them  spectacle.  An'  Pierre 
Poisson  what  has  money,  an'  what  live  in  the  village 
an'  know  better,  he  don't  help  his  paw  an'  his  maw 
none." 

Catherine  stood  looking  wonderingly  up  at  the  kindly 
old  face;  trying  to  adjust  her  point  of  view  to  this  new 
standard  which  did  not  regard  Esperance  as  on  the 
outermost  edge  of  the  world,  and  considered  the  vil- 
lage of  Bergerac  as  a  center  of  enlightenment. 


THE  GRINDING  147 

"  But  Zelinka  help,"  Miss  Victorine  continued;  "  him 
an'  his  wife,  Ottinsia  Lirette.  They  is  good  people. 
An'  Madame  Poisson  are  not  lazy.  Ah  no!  She  get 
up  an'  work  in  her  garden  before  day,  an'  she  feed 
her  chicken,  an'  milk  her  cow,  an'  hoe  her  fiel'.  My 
occasion  of  going  yonder  are  not  often,  but  I  always 
buy  vegetable.  To  go  to-day  was  a  pleasure.  The 
road  yonder  are  beautiful  —  but  beautiful!  " 

"I'd  like  to  see  it,"  Catherine  exclaimed  with  an 
impulse  of  interest  in  this  strange,  new  world  of  which 
she  was  now  a  part. 

Miss  Victorine  flushed  with  pleasure.  "  Might  I 
tek  the  liberty?  "  she  began  and  hesitated. 

"  To  take  me?     I  should  be  delighted  to  go." 

Miss  Victorine  smiled  all  over  her  wrinkled,  aquiline 
face.  "  And  it  meks  a  beautiful  time  now  on  the 
bayou,"  she  said.  "  An'  the  canes!  Never,  never  has 
I  seen  the  canes  grow  like  that!  But  of  a  height!  It 
is  to  admire!  " 

"  Is  the  cane  better  than  usual?  "  Catherine  asked, 
looking  across  the  level  fields  that  stretched  to  the 
woodland  bordering  Bayou  Blanc.  "  We  are  so  un- 
accustomed to  planting,  we  feared  the  crop  might  be  a 
failure." 

"  A  failure!  "  Miss  Victorine  ejaculated  in  astonish- 
ment. "  But  how  could  that  be?  "  In  the  late  after- 
noon sunlight  a  gang  of  laborers  was  finishing  the  day's 
work  under  the  supervision  of  a  large,  loose-jointed 
figure  on  horseback.  "  A  failure!  "  she  repeated  men- 
tally, "  and  with  my  Placide  overseeing."  Then  she 


148  THE  GRINDING 

reminded  herself  that  everything  was  new  to  these  city 
people,  and  that  they  must  gradually  learn  Placide's 
value  as  they  must  learn  the  value  of  the  various  kinds 
of  soil  and  of  the  different  implements. 

"  We  have  the  secret  hostility  of  Mr.  Blaise  to  con- 
tend against,"  Catherine  exclaimed  impetuously,  little 
suspecting  the  turn  Miss  Victorine's  thoughts  had 
taken.  "  He  tries  to  cheat  us  in  every  way.  He 
cheated  us  on  our  mules,  he  takes  away  our  laborers, 
we  have  to  be  on  our  guard  at  every  point." 

Miss  Victorine  looked  tenderly  down  on  the  lonely, 
motherless  girl,  so  pretty,  so  imprudent,  and  wondered 
if  it  would  be  safe  to  give  her  a  word  of  advice.  "  You 
think  him  dengerous?  "  she  asked.  "  Then  it  is  bes'  to 
be  silent.  You  know,  the  one  who  done  the  wrong 
never  forgive.  No,  it  is  not  an  advantage  to  'ave  deal- 
ing with  M'sieur  Tobias.  But  soon  all  will  be  frien'ly 
between  Gole  Mine  and  Esperance,  hein?  An'  already 
he  begin  to  tek  interes'.  I  come  from  seem'  his  horse 
behind  the  Ole  Buryin'  Groun',  an'  I  ask  myself, 
'  What  is  he  do  at  the  Ole  Buryin'  Groun'?  Is  he  pray 
at  the  grave  of  his  ancestor?  But  no!  Not  M'sieur 
Tobias.  He  is  not  devote/  Then,"  she  continued, 
raising  her  forefinger  impressively,  "  I  figure  to  myself 
it  is  the  gas  pocket  he  visit;  an'  he  tie  his  horse  to  the 
graveyard  fence  so  she  can  mek  a  good  supper  while 
he  study  the  pocket.  But,  Mees  Catrine,  it  is  not  bes' 
to  talk  about  M'sieur  Tobias  in  this  parish.  He  hear 
what  we  thinks  in  the  dark  with  the  door  shut.  Yes, 
he  do.  But  in  the  long,  long  grindin',  Mees  Catrine, 


THE  GRINDING  149 

the  head  weigh  more  than  the  ears  —  an'  Esperance 
have  got  the  head,  while  Gole  Mine  possess  the  ears. 
Still,  caution,  ch&re  Mamselle.  Let  it  be  a  secret  that 
you  fear  heem  —  an'  the  only  way  to  keep  a  secret 
are  to  say  nothin'  —  otherwise  — " 

Whatever  additional  advice  she  was  about  to  give, 
was  interrupted  at  this  point  by  a  sound  of  shouting  on 
the  other  side  of  the  bayou,  and  Pere  Ignace  dashed 
into  view,  half  standing  in  his  buggy  and  sawing  at 
the  lines  while  he  filled  the  air  with  objurgations. 

"That  Cauchemar!  "  Miss  Victorine  exclaimed. 
"  One  day  she  will  kill  Pere  Ignace,  an'  then  I  hope 
she  will  be  satisfy." 

"  I  wouldn't  keep  such  a  creature,"  Catherine  de- 
clared. "Oh!  O-h!  O-h-h!  "  This  last  was  a 
shriek  from  both,  for  Pere  Ignace  having  triumphantly 
reached  the  point  opposite  and  perceiving  the  two  ladies 
watching  him,  attempted  to  raise  his  hat  with  the  whip 
still  clenched  in  his  hand.  The  all-observant  Cauche- 
mar, catching  sight  of  the  whip  and  mistaking  the 
demonstration,  rose  suddenly  upright  on  her  hind  feet 
and  pawed  the  air. 

"  She'll  smash  the  buggy!  "  cried  Catherine. 

"  She  will  teep  heem  in  the  bay-you!  "  shrieked  Miss 
Victorine. 

"  Oh!  O-h-h-h!  "  they  both  screamed  as  the  animal 
whirled  and  tried  to  make  a  dash  for  home.  There 
was  a  hailstorm  of  blows,  a  torrent  of  vociferations, 
and  bouncing  at  a  breakneck  speed,  the  buggy  went 
rocking  away  and  disappeared  in  a  cloud  of  dust. 


ISO  THE  GRINDING 

"  Man  Dieu! "  Miss  Victorine  sighed  in  relief. 
"  Before  my  h-eyes  I  seen  him  dead.  My  hair  come 
straight  on  my  head.  I  — " 

From  behind  a  clump  of  coffee-weeds  at  the  side  of 
the  road  where  Cauchemar  had  executed  her  most 
spirited  antics,  a  small  pig  now  slunk  into  sight  with 
a  conscious-smitten  air. 

"  Mon  Dieu!  "  Miss  Victorine  repeated.  "  An'  now 
it  are  Tobias  who  aim  to  walk  on  the  top  of  the  road. 
I  mus'  chase  heem,  or  he  is  los',"  and  forgetting  in 
her  excitement  even  to  say  her  customary  "  Au  revoir," 
she  whirled  away,  bouncing  over  the  rough  road  and 
lashing  her  pony  with  the  blossoming  weed. 

"  You  and  Miss  Victorine  have  been  having  an  ex- 
citing conversation/'  said  Fergus,  slipping  his  hand 
through  Catherine's  arm.  "  Ah  here  comes  Pidgeon 
at  last!  "  as  the  small,  round  figure  came  in  sight, 
perched  like  a  monkey  so  far  back  on  the  mule's 
haunches  that  he  seemed  in  danger  of  slipping  down 
its  tail.  He  was  beguiling  the  tedium  of  the  trip  by 
playing  ball  with  the  package  of  mail;  leaning  far  over, 
now  this  way,  now  that,  to  catch  it  first  in  one  hand, 
then  in  the  other.  Suddenly  perceiving  the  two  figures 
he  became  as  demure  as  a  mute  at  a  funeral  and, 
sliding  down  to  the  ground,  stood  cap  in  hand  while 
Fergus  explained  to  him  the  need  of  care  in  handling 
the  letters. 

Ronald,  standing  on  the  gallery,  watched  Catherine 
as  she  approached,  her  hand  on  Fergus'  arm,  her  head 
bent  as  she  examined  an  address  he  was  showing  her. 


THE  GRINDING  151 

One  of  her  chief  beauties,  he  reflected,  was  her  perfect 
grace.  So  dainty,  he  thought,  so  exquisite,  such  a 
flowerlike  girl,  but  with  such  a  cruel  heart!  It  was 
his  calamity  that,  in  spite  of  this  knowledge,  he  con- 
tinued to  love  her.  He  marveled  at  his  own  weakness. 

"  Nothing  yet  from  Tom  Ogers?  "  he  asked,  coming 
down  the  steps  to  meet  them. 

"  Nothing,"  said  Fergus,  "  but  here's  a  letter  from 
New  Bedford.  From  Emily  Allin,  I  judge.  That  will 
be  a  pleasure." 

"  Yes,"  said  Ronald,  indifferently, "  it's  from  Emily," 
and  walked  away  reading  it. 

He  might  have  stopped  and  shared  it  with  her,  Cath- 
erine thought.  She  and  Emily  were  classmates  at 
Dobbs'  Ferry,  and  it  would  have  been  interesting  to 
hear  of  their  old  friends.  Then  it  occurred  to  her 
that  a  letter  to  Ronald  might  not  be  so  interesting  as 
if  it  had  been  written  to  her. 

"  Have  you  the  Society  Notes,  Fergus?  "  she  asked. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  he  said,  handing  her  the  sheet.  "  I  beg 
your  pardon." 

"  I  like  to  see  what  our  old  friends  are  doing,"  she 
explained. 

"  Of  course,"  he  agreed,  and  went  on  reading  the 
editorial  page. 

Presently  glancing  up,  she  said,  "Marc  Sutton  is 
at  Gold  Mine.  They're  giving  a  week-end  house 
party,  and,"  after  another  pause,  she  added  in  a  hard 
tone,  "  I  don't  see  why  those  people  want  to  pretend 
any  friendship  for  us.  I  don't  see  why  that  Blaise 


152  THE  GRINDING 

girl  called  on  me."  It  was  the  first  time  she  had  men- 
tioned the  incident,  and  she  colored  as  she  spoke  of  it 
now,  knowing  that  Fergus  must  disapprove  of  her  rude- 
ness to  Modesta.  "  You  say  Mr.  Blaise  seems  more 
friendly  than  he  did  formerly;  but,  Fergus,  I'm  sure 
he's  just  as  dangerous  as  a  tiger.  I  told  you  about 
seeing  him  at  the  gas  pocket,  and  Miss  Victorine  men- 
tioned seeing  him  there  again  this  evening.  She  said 
it  very  cautiously,  but  I'm  sure  she  meant  to  put  us 
on  our  guard.  He  means  mischief.  You  may  depend 
upon  it;  he  means  mischief." 


XVIII 

C  EATED  as  they  were,  they  did  not  see  the  figure 
^  that  dismounted  at  the  gate  and  approached  them, 
moving  as  noiselessly  as  a  cat,  walking  in  the  violets 
that  bordered  the  path,  still  further  to  muffle  his  foot- 
steps. When  Catherine  said,  "I'm  sure  he  means  mis- 
chief," a  soft  voice  with  something  indefinably  char- 
acteristic in  its  intonation,  replied,  "  But  he's  harm- 
less." 

Her  nerves  all  in  a  quiver,  Catherine  sprang  to  her 
feet.  "  Marc  Sutton!  "  she  cried. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  visitor  coming  up  the  steps  and 
taking  a  hand  of  each,  "  at  last  I  had  a  chance  to 
come.  And  I  beg  your  pardon  for  overhearing  your 
last  words.  I  ought  to  have  realized  you  couldn't  see 
me,  and  spoken  sooner." 

Fergus  now  noticed  that  his  horse  was  tied  outside 
and,  seated  as  they  were,  he  had  quite  naturally  ap- 
proached unperceived. 

Still  holding  Catherine's  hand,  Marc  said,  in  his  soft, 
caressing  voice,  "  What  have  you  been  doing  to  make 
yourself  lovelier  than  ever?  I  didn't  believe  that  pos- 
sible when  you  were  my  queen." 

"  Why,  Marc!  "  Ronald's  voice  spoke  from  the  hall 
door,  "  when  did  you  come?  " 

153 


154  THE  GRINDING 

"  To  Esperance?  This  moment.  I'm  over  at  Gold 
Mine  for  the  week-end."  Then,  to  Fergus,  "  I  thought 
I  could  attend  to  that  matter  more  satisfactorily  in 
person  than  I  have  been  able  to  by  letter." 

"  Can't  you  stay  here  to-night?  "  Catherine  asked. 
"  We'll  send  Pidgeon  over  to  Gold  Mine  to  tell  them 
you've  been  taken  prisoner.  I  haven't  seen  any  one 
from  New  Orleans  since  I  left  there  —  so  you  know 
how  starved  for  news  I  must  be." 

"  I  wish  I  could  stay,"  he  answered  with  apparent 
sincerity,  "  but  I  must  be  back  this  evening;  I'll  stay 
to  supper  though  if  you'll  let  me." 

When  they  were  gathered  about  the  table,  he  told 
them  the  recent  gossip  of  the  city;  of  how  grand  Belle 
Snively's  wedding  was  — "  the  most  brilliant  affair  — " 
he  was  going  to  say  "  for  several  seasons,"  but,  re- 
membering that  that  reflected  on  Catherine's  bal 
poudre  of  only  one  year  ago,  he  changed  the  wording 
of  his  sentence,  and  said,  "  the  most  brilliant  since  you 
left." 

"  Did  she  look  pretty?  "  Catherine  asked. 

"  Pretty?  "  he  looked  at  her  and  laughed.  "  You 
ask?  And  when  did  she  look  pretty?  She  was 
gorgeously  dressed.  They  say  it  was  her  grand- 
mother's wedding  gown.  I  never  knew  she  had  a 
grandmother  —  did  you?  But  this  was  her  wedding 
gown  — '  which  she  wore  at  the  President's  inaugural 
ball,'  mind  you.  It  was  a  mass  of  lace  —  I  don't  know 
what  kind.  You'll  have  to  ask  May  Burbank.  I  saw 
her  up  in  the  gallery,  looking  with  all  her  eyes.  Some 


THE  GRINDING  155 

contrast  to  her  own  wedding.  She  was  married  in  a 
traveling  dress.  Don't  you  go  and  make  such  a  mis- 
take, Catherine.  A  girl  has  a  chance  to  wear  a  veil 
and  orange  blossoms  just  once  in  her  life;  and  then  to 
go  and  get  married  in  a  traveling  dress!  But  the 
greatest  joke  is  —  but  you  mustn't  tell  I  told  you; 
say  some  one  else  did  —  By  the  way,  where  did  you 
first  meet  Belle  Snively?  " 

"  Belle  Snively? "  Catherine  queried,  astonished. 
"  I  met  her  —  I  don't  remember  where  I  met  her  first. 
Oh,  yes,  I  met  her  at  that  kermess  we  danced  to  raise 
money  for  the  Charity  Hospital.  Don't  you  remem- 
ber? She  was  dressed  as  a  Polish  peasant  —  Polish 
or  Russian.  Which  was  it?  " 

"  Russian,"  said  Marc. 

"  She  was  just  as  cunning  as  she  could  be  in  her 
furs,"  Catherine  said. 

"  And  fairly  broiling  with  the  heat,"  Marc  added. 

"  But  so  pretty  and  fascinating,"  Catherine  insisted. 

"  Oh,  come  now,"  Marc  protested.  "  Fascinating, 
if  you  will,  but  not  pretty.  She  never  had  a  ghost  of 
a  claim  to  be  pretty." 

"  Yes,  she  did,"  Catherine  insisted.  "  Don't  you  re- 
member her  long  braid  of  jet-black  hair,  reaching  al- 
most to  her  ankles?  " 

"  Certainly  I  do,  and  I  know  where  she  rented  it." 

"  Oh,  Marc,  I  don't  believe  it." 

"  And  that  was  the  evening  she  and  Angelina  Home 
created  such  a  furore  dancing  together,"  Ronald  re- 
membered. 


156  THE  GRINDING 

"  She  and  Angelina  have  quarreled.  They  quar- 
reled the  day  of  the  wedding  —  too  late  to  drop  An- 
gelina out  of  the  wedding  procession.  And  Belle  was 
furious  at  having  her,"  Marc  went  on. 

"  What  was  it  about?  "  Catherine  asked.  "  They 
were  so  intimate." 

"  Angelina  accused  her  of  something  or  other.  By 
the  way,  Angelina  has  been  robbed.  She  lost  her  dia- 
mond ear-rings.  Those  great  head-lights  she  used  to 
wear." 

"  Since  the  wedding?  "  Ronald  asked. 

"  Before.  And  Modesta  lost  a  pearl  ring  the  last 
time  Belle  was  out  here." 

"  You  don't  mean  to  insinuate  — "  Catherine  ex- 
claimed. 

"  Heaven  forbid!  "  Marc  interrupted.  "  I  don't  in- 
sinuate anything.  I  was  merely  on  the  point  of  stat- 
ing a  disconnected  fact." 

"  And  what  was  it?  "  Catherine  asked. 

"  Oh,  nothing,  except  that  Modesta  lost  it;  but  Belle 
smoothed  it  over  by  accusing  a  little  maid  that  had 
come  recently,  and  later  they  found  the  ring." 

"  Isn't  it  possible  the  maid  had  stolen  it  and  put  it 
back?  "  Catherine  asked. 

"  Yes,  it's  possible,"  Marc  replied  with  a  soft  laugh. 
"  Wasn't  the  third  form  of  supposition  in  Greek  '  Sup- 
position with  bare  possibility,'  Fergus?  I  think  the 
maid's  having  stolen  it  is  the  third  form  of  supposi- 
tion. Anyhow,  the  child  wanted  to  leave  and  the  priest 
was  called  in.  I  don't  know  why  it  all  made  such  an 


THE  GRINDING  157 

uproar  —  and  if  Belle  took  the  ring  —  mind,  I  say  if 
she  took  it,  I'm  sure  she  didn't  foresee  the  complica- 
tions that  would  arise  from  her  accusing  the  servant." 

"  It  wasn't  one  of  our  Esperance  negroes,  was  it?  " 
Fergus  asked.  "  I'm  trying  to  become  acquainted  with 
their  characteristics  so  I  can  know  whom  to  trust." 

"  '  Trust '?  "  Marc  repeated  and  laughed.  "  Well, 
set  your  mind  at  rest.  It  was  a  white  girl  they've 
taken  out  of  charity.  She  comes  from  somewhere  on 
this  bayou,  but  not  near  here." 

"  And  did  Angelina  recover  her  ear-rings?  "  Cath- 
erine asked. 

"  Yes,  she  hired  a  detective  and  they  were  found;  no 
one  knows  just  where.  It  was  hushed  up,  but  it  looked 
awkward  for  Belle.  The  city's  humming  with  it,  and 
everybody's  remembering  things,  now  Belle's  gone. 
It's  screamingly  funny  to  hear  the  girls  talk.  May'll 
write  you  all  about  it.  By  the  way,  Fergus,  did  the 
Smithsonian  Institution  buy  your  coin  collection?  " 

"  No." 

"  What  became  of  it?  " 

"  I  don't  know." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence  in  which  all  remem- 
bered that  Belle  was  with  Catherine  during  the  break- 
ing up  of  the  home. 

"  It  must  have  been  accidentally  carted  away  with 
the  furniture,"  Fergus  observed.  "  The  collection  was 
so  heavy  no  one  person  could  have  carried  it  off." 

"  Oh,  I  wasn't  thinking  Belle  had  stolen  it,"  Marc 
protested  with  a  laugh.  "  As  you  say,  no  one  person 


158  THE  GRINDING 

could  have  carried  it  off.  Besides,  I'm  slow  to  suspect 
people.  I  don't  believe  I  could  ever  convict  a  man  on 
circumstantial  evidence.  His  guilt  might  seem  un- 
questionable; then,  years  later,  you  find  he  is  innocent. 
I  knew  of  a  man  who  was  hanged  for  a  murder  he  never 
committed,  and  twenty  years  later,  the  real  criminal 
confessed  on  his  death  bed.  Now  you  say  that  Mr. 
Blaise  means  mischief  —  but  on  what  do  you  base  your 
assertion?  " 

"  I  saw  him  prowling  around  our  gas  pocket,"  Cath- 
erine replied. 

"  Is  it  fenced  in?  " 

"No." 

"  Well,  then,  why  couldn't  he  stop  and  look  at  it 
without  trespassing?  What  harm  was  there  in  it? 
I'm  not  defending  him;  I'm  asking  for  information." 

Catherine  listened  with  that  strange  feeling  of  hav- 
ing heard  all  this  before  —  that  curious  counterfeit  of 
memory  —  which  doubtless  gave  rise  to  the  theory  of 
reincarnation;  and  when  Marc  began  talking  of  busi- 
ness it  seemed  as  if  she  knew  what  was  coming.  He 
explained  the  plan  by  which  Tobias  Blaise  was  willing 
to  pay  a  certain  sum  for  the  gas  pocket,  and  another 
sum  if  he  found  gas. 

"  If?  "  said  Ronald;  "  he  knows  it's  there." 

"  Yes,"  Marc  acknowledged,  "  he  knows  it's  there." 

"  And  you  saw  how  it  burned,"  Catherine 
added.  * 

As  Marc  raised  his  eyes  to  her  face,  she  remembered 
the  impression  their  intense  blackness  sometimes  pro- 


THE  GRINDING  159 

duced  upon  her  as  if,  looking  at  her,  he  did  not  see  her. 
"  Yes,"  he  acknowledged  again,  "  I  have  seen  it  burn. 
But  in  this  matter,  we  must  talk  practically  and  not 
theoretically.  You  know  it's  always  a  risk,  boring  in 
the  earth  for  anything.  The  gas  is  there  —  but  can  he 
harness  it?  And  is  it  in  paying  quantities?  And  can 
he  pipe  it  to  his  sugarhouse  cheaply  enough  to  use  it 
for  fuel?  It  seems  to  me  this  is  a  great  chance  for 
you  to  realize  on  non-productive  property  without  tak- 
ing any  risk.  You  will  excuse  my  speaking  so  frankly. 
If  you  had  the  money  to  bore,  of  course,  that  would  be 
a  different  matter." 

"  Perhaps,"  Catherine  began  impulsively,  when  Ron- 
ald's eyes  flashed  a  warning  at  her. 

Marc  saw  the  look  and  read  its  meaning.  "  They 
have  a  plan  for  raising  the  money,"  he  thought. 
Then,  aloud,  "  I  think  you  must  know  that  I'm  not 
acting  in  Blaise's  interest  in  this  matter.  I've  been 
talking  gas  —  not  hot  air  — "  with  a  humorous  glance 
at  Catherine.  "  I'm  not  trying  to  deceive  him  any 
more  than  I  am  you  —  I  really  have  no  interest  in  the 
matter  outside  my  friendship  for  you,  and  my  duty  as 
your  lawyer.  I  thought,  considering  the  doubtful  posi- 
tion of  that  gas  pocket  —  so  near  the  boundary  line  you 
can't  be  quite  sure  which  side  it's  on  —  it  would  be  a 
mighty  lucky  thing  for  you  to  get  rid  of  it  without 
further  controversy." 

"  If  it  is  on  his  side  of  the  line  it  already  belongs 
to  him,"  Fergus  answered  quietly,  "  and  we  should  not 
consent  to  his  paying  us  for  what  was  not  ours." 


160  THE  GRINDING 

"  Certainly,  if  it  were  proved  that  it  was  not  yours. 
I  know  you  too  well  to  suspect  you'd  accept  money 
for'  what  was  not  yours.  But  you  can't  be  sure  of 
that  without  all  the  expense  of  surveying,  looking  up 
papers,  and  so  on.  The  records  have  not  been  well 
kept  in  this  parish.  There  is  one  thing  proves  your 
ownership  to  me."  He  glanced  at  Fergus  with  that 
furtive,  half-laughing  expression  habitual  with  him. 

"  And  what  is  that?  "  his  three  hearers  asked  in  a 
breath. 

"  The  fact  that  Blaise  is  willing  to  pay  for  it  with- 
out haggling." 

"  Marc,"  said  Catherine,  "  why  did  you  and  he  exam- 
ine it  before  speaking  to  Fergus?  You  know  that  was 
a  queer  way  to  treat  old  friends." 

Marc's  face  took  on  a  pale,  salmon  tinge  as  he  re- 
plied: "Not  at  all.  We  happened  to  be  riding  past 
and  Blaise  said,  '  Don't  you  «want  to  see  a  natural 
wonder?  '  That  was  all  there  was  to  it.  I  didn't  even 
know  at  that  time  that  it  belonged  to  you.  And  mind, 
I'm  not  urging  any  of  you  to  sell.  I'm  only  saying, 
unless  you  can  bore,  and  unless  you  have  money  to 
fight  his  claim  (if  he  should  decide  to  make  one),  it 
seems  to  me  a  waste  to  let  natural  resources  lie  idle. 
And  money's  awfully  tight  just  now." 

After  supper  he  expressed  much  regret  that  he  must 
hurry  back  to  Gold  Mine,  adding,  "  I  promised  to  come 
when  Modesta  was  in  Belle's  party.  I  couldn't  get 
out  of  it  —  and  she's  a  nice  little  thing,"  he  added  as  if 
recalled  to  something  he  had  forgotten.  Ronald's  eyes 


THE  GRINDING  161 

rested  on  him  with  a  curious  expression,  but  he  said 
nothing. 

Ananias  was  waiting  at  the  foot  of  the  steps  with 
the  horse,  which  loomed  tall  and  ghostly  in  the  half 
light  from  the  lantern  hanging  from  the  saddle  bow. 
Marc  mounted  stiffly  and  cautiously.  He  was  not  at 
home  on  horseback  and  held  the  bridle  in  a  nervous 
grasp,  leaning  forward  a  little  so  that,  unconsciously 
to  himself,  his  pale,  sallow  face  with  its  closely  trimmed 
black  beard  and  the  high  forehead  with  a  black  peak 
in  the  center  looked  like  a  mask  from  which  the  sur- 
face blackness  of  his  eyes  glittered  like  jewels. 

Hat  in  hand,  he  smiled  up  at  Catherine.  "  Can't  we 
all  go  fishing  together,  one  of  these  days?  "  he  asked. 
"  You  know,  all  work  and  no  play  is  bad  for  everybody. 
We'll  get  that  handsome  Cajan  boy,  Jacques  (he  pro- 
nounced it  Jakes)  Lirette,  to  pilot  us.  They  say  he 
knows  the  coast  by  heart." 

Catherine  flushed  scarlet,  the  name  had  come  so  un- 
expectedly. How  did  he  know  anything  of  Jacques 
Lirette,  she  wondered  with  alarm. 

"  Think  over  the  matter  about  the  gas  pocket, 
Fergus,"  Marc  continued  as  if  he  had  not  noticed  Cath- 
erine's embarrassment.  "  You'll  be  with  us,  tomorrow, 
I  suppose,  Ronald?  "  Then,  with  a  pleasant  good- 
night, and  the  promise  to  come  soon  for  a  fishing  trip, 
he  rode  away. 

The  lantern  swung  and  flickered  and  the  three  on 
the  gallery  watched  it  in  silence.  Down  the  long 
sweep  of  the  driveway  to  the  gate,  past  the  clump 


162  THE  GRINDING 

of  shrubbery  outside  the  fence,  now  hidden  by  thick 
foliage,  now  twinkling  clearly  through  an  opening; 
growing  smaller  and  more  distant  until  the  hollow  sound 
of  hoofs  on  the  wooden  bridge,  unnaturally  loud  in  the 
silence  of  the  night,  told  that  he  was  crossing  the 
bayou. 

"  He's  dangerous,"  exclaimed  Ronald,  as  the  hoof 
beats  died  away.  "  Blaise  wants  to  be  friendly  with 
us  for  several  reasons;  and  it's  to  our  interest  to  meet 
him  half  way.  But  that  crook  is  trying  to  make  trou- 
ble. I  don't  see  why  we  haven't  always  suspected  that 
fellow.  I  never  noticed  that  retreating  forehead  of 
his  before  —  with  the  hair  growing  down  into  that 
sharp  peak  in  the  center.  He's  an  absolute  Mephis- 
topheles." 

"  How  uncharitable  you  are!  "  Catherine  exclaimed. 
But,  at  the  same  time  she  felt  frightened  at  Marc  Sut- 
ton's  words.  What  had  he  meant  to  imply,  she  won- 
dered. 

"  I  suppose  you  think  he  has  a  winning  counte- 
nance," Ronald  retorted. 

"  I  think  he's  homely,"  she  acknowledged,  "  but  I 
never  did  choose  my  friends  for  their  beauty."  Then, 
in  her  own  mind,  she  wondered  again  how  he  happened 
to  speak  of  Jacques;  and  a  fear  assailed  her  that  he 
would  couple  their  names  together  in  some  way  if  she 
quarreled  with  him.  It  was  cowardly  of  her  not  to 
speak  her  fear  to  those  two  who  had  proved  their 
love  and  trustworthiness  by  a  lifetime  of  devotion,  but 
she  reflected  that  Ronald  would  be  tempted  to  say,  "  I 


THE  GRINDING  163 

told  you  so,"  if  she  acknowledged  her  dread.  Instead, 
she  said,  "  I  can  see  how  it  may  easily  have  happened." 

"  You  didn't  notice  his  expression?  "  Ronald  in- 
quired. He  was  still  looking  toward  the  bridge,  and 
the  dim  light  from  the  hall  showed  the  haughty  poise 
of  his  head  and  the  nervous  frown  on  his  half-averted 
face.  "  Do  you  think,"  he  continued  in  the  same  tone, 
"  that  any  one  ever  looked  as  freakish  as  that  if  there 
was  nothing  wrong  with  him?  " 

"  Fergus,"  she  protested,  "  is  it  reasonable  to  turn 
against  an  old  friend  just  because  he  looks  queer  by 
lantern  light?  " 

"  I  think  Cathie  is  right,"  Fergus  interposed.  "  Per- 
haps his  standards  are  not  exactly  like  ours,  but  the 
great  danger  of  living  such  isolated  lives  is  that  one 
falls  into  the  habit  of  distrusting  people.  We  exag- 
gerate trifles  and  think  they  have  a  deep  meaning." 

"  As  I  looked  at  him,"  Ronald  continued  musingly, 
as  if  speaking  to  himself,  "  I  could  see  him  with  shaven 
head  and  the  convict  stripes  around  his  neck.  His 
face  was  made  for  that  uniform." 

"  You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself,  talking  that 
way,"  she  declared.  "  I  know  why  you're  so  severe 
toward  him  "  and  she  walked  away. 

"  He  makes  me  sick,"  Ronald  exclaimed  as  Cather- 
ine left  them.  "  He  thinks  he's  so  wonderfully  deep 
—  making  eyes  at  the  girls,  and  setting  them  all  by  the 
ears.  Slandering  every  girl  he  knows.  And  here's 
Cathie,  fooled  by  a  few  soft  words.  Girls  can't  see 
through  a  pane  of  glass." 


164  THE  GRINDING 

Fergus  musing  abstractedly,  seemed  not  to  hear  him. 

"  I'll  wager  anything,"  Ronald  went  on,  "  he  has 
Esperance  at  his  fingers'  ends  and  knows  it  better  than 
we  do." 

"  Why  do  you  think  he  would  give  Blaise  the  prefer- 
ence over  us?  "  Fergus  asked. 

"  Blaise  holds  cards  and  spades,"  Ronald  exclaimed. 
"  Don't  you  see?  Blaise  has  the  money  to  bore  right 
away.  And  he  has  a  daughter  Marc  might  marry.  If 
we  hadn't  lost  out,  he'd  have  tried  to  marry  Catherine. 
Good  heavens,  Fergus!  "  He  broke  off.  "  Can't  you 
induce  her  to  have  a  little  common  sense  and  not  lis- 
ten to  every  adventurer  and  Cajan  fisherman  that 
comes  along?  Marc  will  cajole  her  into  signing  away 
the  plantation,  if  you  don't  watch  her.  Jove!  "  he 
ejaculated,  walking  away.  In  a  moment  he  returned. 
"  If  Tom  conies,"  he  said,  "  he'll  advance  the  money, 
and  with  a  little  money,  we'll  be  on  our  feet  in  no 
time.  But  without  money  —  we're  so  helpless!  " 

Fergus  laid  his  hand  on  Ronald's  shoulder.  "  Go 
to  bed,"  he  said.  "  Worrying  doesn't  help  us.  Things 
may  look  brighter  in  the  morning." 


XIX 

A  few  days  after  Marc  Button's  visit,  bad  weather 
•**•  set  in.  Day  after  day  the  rain  fell  and  Fergus 
and  Ronald,  who  heard  of  floods  in  other  parts  of  the 
state,  grew  more  and  more  silent  and  anxious.  Cath- 
erine, knowing  nothing  of  the  danger  of  high  water  and 
not  realizing  how  her  discontent  added  to  the  burden 
the  others  were  bearing,  fretted  daily  because  she  could 
not  get  out  of  doors  and  because  there  was  nothing  to 
do  within.  No  one  imagined  how  keenly  she  missed 
her  books  and  her  piano.  In  other  days,  she  had 
played  charmingly,  with  a  caressing,  sympathetic 
touch.  It  was  a  natural  gift  and  not  the  result  of  in- 
dustry; but  she  now  longed  for  music  with  a  passion- 
ate yearning.  She  had  been  attracted  to  Jacques 
Lirette  even  more  by  the  music  of  his  voice  than  by  his 
beauty,  and  she  was  tempted  to  have  him  bring  his 
guitar  and  sing  for  her.  Why  shouldn't  she,  she  asked 
herself.  What  did  she  care  for  the  petty,  bayou  gos- 
sip? But  for  some  reason,  she  did  not  do  it. 

Going  into  the  kitchen  one  morning  she  said,  "  Mar- 
celline,  what  do  women  do  in  the  country  when  it 
rains  all  the  time?  I  never  thought  about  it  before, 
but  I  wonder  what  Noah's  wife  did,  shut  up  in  the  ark." 

"  I  reckon  she  were  right  busy,"  Marcelline  replied. 

165 


166  THE  GRINDING 

"You  knows,  she  had  plenty  animules  to  tend.  But 
I  reckon  she  set  an'  study  a  heap  er  times  what  she 
were  a-goin'  to  do  when  the  rain  let  up.  She  mout 
er  study  how  she  were  a-goin'  to  shoo  away  all  them 
snake  an'  chicken  hawk  an'  buzzard  when  it  come  time 
to  let  out  her  chicken  an'  tukkey.  An'  then  she  had 
her  cookin'  to  do,  an'  you  know  men  folks  is  right  fussy 
about  they  eatin' — 'specially  in  rainy  weather  when 
they  isn't  got  much  to  do  outside.  An'  she  didn't  have 
no  one  to  help  her,  lessen  her  daughters-in-law  whirled 
in  an'  lent  a  hand.  An'  that  ain't  likely." 

Days  passed  and  still  the  rain  beat  against  the  win- 
dows and  leaked  through  the  roof.  Then  one  morn- 
ing Catherine  awoke  to  a  sky  of  the  deepest  azure  and 
the  sunlight  gilding  all  the  landscape.  The  field  work, 
hindered  by  the  wet  weather,  was  now  resumed  with 
double  energy,  and  even  Ananias,  so  long  considered 
indispensable  at  the  house,  was  pressed  into  service  in 
the  cane  fields. 

Catherine,  with  renewed  interest,  went  into  her  rose 
garden  which  was  a  riot  of  blossoms,  filled  with  the 
music  of  the  birds  and  bees.  It  was  good  to  be  alive, 
she  acknowledged  half-grudgingly,  as  she  breathed  the 
perfumed  air.  From  the  garden  she  went  to  the 
chicken  yard  where  she  found  Marcelline  and  Pidgeon 
transferring  a  brood  of  chirping  little  creatures  and 
their  indignant  mother  to  one  of  the  small  enclosed 
spaces  built  for  that  purpose.  As  Catherine  ap- 
proached, she  overheard  Marcelline  say,  "  Thank  God, 


THE  GRINDING  167 

the  levees  has  held.  Mr.  Placide  sure  know  how  to 
watch  them  levees." 

"  Are  there  levees  out  here,  Marcelline?  "  she  asked. 

"  Sure  they  is  levees  out  yeah,"  the  old  woman  an- 
swered. "  They's  fur  back,  against  the  swamp.  Effen 
they  wasn't,  we'd  be  like  Miss  Noah  you  was  axin' 
'bout,  I  reckon." 

"  I  didn't  know  this  plantation  was  subject  to  over- 
flow," Catherine  said. 

"  All  this  part  er  the  kentry  are  subjec'  to  overflow," 
Marcelline  replied,  "  but  they's  good  levees  round  Es- 
pe  ranee."  Then  the  conversation  turned  to  various 
breeds  of  chickens,  and  Catherine  thought  no  more  of 
the  high  water. 

The  following  day,  as  she  was  again  cutting  roses 
to  carry  to  the  house,  she  wandered  back  nearly  to  the 
chicken  yard.  From  where  she  was  standing,  she  could 
hear  Pidgeon's  sweet,  African  voice  crooning: 

"  When  the  moon  run  down  in  purple  stream, 

Purple  stream, 

When  the  sun  refuse  to  shine, 
When  every  star  shall  disappear, 
King  Jesus  shall  be  mine, 
Shall  be  mine." 

She  stood  listening,  and  as  she  did  so,  her  eyes  ran 
with  unconscious  pleasure  over  the  group  of  build- 
ings which,  as  on  every  plantation,  formed  a  comple- 
ment to  the  main  house.  Largest  and  most  important 
was  the  kitchen,  connected  with  the  back  gallery  by  a 


168  THE  GRINDING 

raised  walk  covered  with  a  scuppernong  arbor. 
Against  the  side  of  the  kitchen  and  forming  an  angle 
with  the  two  tall  cisterns  at  its  rear,  was  the  milk  shed 
where  the  open  churn  and  a  row  of  milk  pans  were  tilted 
against  the  raised  step  to  catch  the  morning  sunlight. 
Nearer  to  the  garden  was  the  wash  house,  and  back 
of  that  the  chicken  house,  and  a  succession  of  en- 
closures which  reached  nearly  to  the  stables.  More 
remote  were  the  smoke  house  and  corn  bin,  bordering 
the  pasture;  then  came  the  fields  and  the  woods.  The 
buildings  and  fences  were  all  more  or  less  in  a  state 
of  dilapidation,  but  in  the  bright  sunshine  they  pre- 
sented an  unwonted  charm  to  Catherine's  eyes. 

Something  cold  touched  her  foot.  Starting  back, 
she  perceived  a  long  thread  of  water  stealing  through 
the  grass  like  a  snake;  then  another  and  another.  She 
was  in  a  labyrinth  of  tiny  streams.  What  could  it 
mean?  In  a  sudden  panic,  she  jumped  across  the 
ditch  which  was  rapidly  filling,  and  ran  toward  the 
kitchen  calling,  "  Marcelline!  " 

Almost  before  Catherine  finished  speaking,  the  old 
woman  understood  the  situation.  Putting  her  hands 
distractedly  to  her  head,  she  called  to  Pidgeon.  "  You 
run  to  the  fieP  an'  tell  Mr.  Fergus  the  levee  has  broke," 
she  commanded  breathlessly  as  he  came  out  of  the 
chicken  house.  "  An  come  back  quick  ez  you  kin," 
she  added.  "  An'  tell  Mr.  Fergus  we  needs  Unc'  Nias." 
With  swift  steps  she  went  from  enclosure  to  enclosure, 
gathering  hens  and  chickens  into  her  apron  and  car- 
rying them  up  to  the  loft. 


THE  GRINDING  169 

"  Why  are  you  doing  that?  "  Catherine  asked  in  sur- 
prise. 

"  To  save  them  from  drowndin',"  Marcelline  replied 
without  pausing  in  her  work;  "  we  mout  be  all  over- 
flowed by  night." 

"  Can  I  help?  "  Catherine  asked. 

"  Yes,  Ma'am,  you  kin  help,"  Marcelline  replied. 
"  You  kin  empty  the  feed  bin.  We  has  to  carry  all 
the  feed  upstairs."  Then,  lifting  her  voice  and  round- 
ing her  hand  at  the  side  of  her  mouth  to  form  a  speak- 
ing trumpet,  she  called,  "  Chukey,  whar  is  you?  " 
But  no  Chukey  appeared.  At  the  first  alarm,  she  had 
discreetly  gone  home  to  attend  to  her  own  affairs. 

Catherine  looked  helplessly  around  for  a  pan,  then 
finding  a  bucket,  filled  it  to  overflowing  and  toiled  up 
the  stairs  with  her  heavy  load. 

"  You  kin  empty  it  in  the  box  in  the  cornder,"  Mar- 
celline directed,  instinctively  taking  command. 

Again  and  again  Catherine  filled  the  bucket,  and 
dragged  it  up  the  stairs  until,  with  trembling  limbs, 
she  sank  down  on  the  lowest  step  unable  again  to  lift 
her  load. 

"  You  better  go  to  the  house,"  Marcelline  suggested. 
"  You  mout  have  to  take  all  you  clo'es  outen  the  ar- 
moires.  We  don't  know  how  high  the  water  are  goin' 
to  rise." 

"  You  think  we'll  have  to  live  upstairs?  "  Catherine 
asked. 

"  We  mout.  We  doesn't  know  how  bad  the  break 
are;  nor  where  'bouts  in  the  levees.  It  might  be  jes' 


,170  THE  GRINDING 

a  little  break  what  they  kin  stop  right  away,  an'  it 
mout  be  a  reg'lar  washout." 

"  What  will  happen  if  it's  a  washout?  " 

But  Marcelline  was  again  out  of  sight  and  Catherine 
could  hear  her  dragging  some  heavy  object  across  the 
floor.  She  crossed  the  yard,  where  little  pools  of 
water  were  already  forming  in  the  long  grass,  and  a 
bevy  of  ducks  was  delightedly  quacking.  She  was 
timid  about  being  alone,  and  so  instead  of  going  into 
the  empty  house  and  beginning  to  pack  her  clothes  as 
Marcelline  had  suggested,  she  waited  on  the  back  gal- 
lery until  the  old  woman  returned. 

"  What  will  become  of  us,"  Catherine  repeated,  "  if 
there  is  a  washout?  " 

"  The  Lawd  only  knows,"  Marcelline  replied.  "  All 
I  knows  is  this  much:  effen  He  pint  the  way,  we  is 
boun'  to  go.  We  kin  rare  an'  charge  all  we  likes,  but 
we's  boun'  to  keep  in  the  road.  An'  effen  He  say  fur  us 
to  go  thoo  the  Red  Sea,  we  mout  as  well  haul  off  an' 
wade  right  in.  An  effen  He  say  'Swim!  '  we's  boun' 
to  swim  whether  we  kin  or  not." 

There  was  something  displeasingly  hortatory  in  this 
reply,  and  for  the  moment  Catherine  asked  no  more 
questions  but  followed  the  old  woman  into  the  bed 
room  where  she  began  emptying  armoires  and  dresser 
drawers.  Presently,  motioning  toward  the  white  velvet 
box  which  still  stood  under  the  bed,  she  observed, 
"  We  mout  tote  that  upstairs,  but  it  are  mighty  hefty, 
an'  soak'  with  the  dampness.  I  reckon  it  will  bust  ef 
we  teches  it." 


THE  GRINDING  171 

"  It  can't  be  very  heavy,"  Catherine  replied,  "  but 
there's  no  use  carrying  it  upstairs,"  and  she  walked  out 
to  the  front  gallery.  Here  a  strange  sight  met  her  eyes. 
Across  the  bayou,  where  the  fields  of  Esperance  met 
those  of  Gold  Mine,  between  the  ridges  of  feathery 
cane,  there  were  long,  black  ribbons  of  water. 

Presently  Marcelline,  her  arms  full  of  parcels, 
looked  out  of  the  door.  "That  are  black  water," 
she  observed;  "hit  are  backin'  up  from  the 
swamp." 

"  It  can't  be  very  serious,"  said  Catherine. 
"  They'd  be  doing  something  if  it  were.  There  isn't  a 
soul  in  sight." 

"  I  reckon  they  is  doin'  all  they  kin,"  Marcelline  as- 
sured her.  "Hark!  "  as  the  faint  sound  of  a  bell 
reached  them  from  a  distance.  "  That  are  to  Gole 
Mine,"  she  exclaimed;  and  a  moment  later  the  bell  of 
Esperance  took  up  the  cry  of  alarm  with  its  sharp, 
brazen  clang. 

And  now  Ananias  and  Pidgeon  appeared,  splashing 
through  the  water.  As  soon  as  they  were  within  speak- 
ing distance,  Catherine,  consumed  with  impatience, 
called,  "  Tell  me,  Ananias!  What  is  it?  " 

"  It  are  a  break,"  he  answered,  mopping  his  head 
with  his  red  bandana  handkerchief.  "  It  have  broke 
bofe  sides  to  wonst.  The  one  over  yonder  to  Gole 
Mine  are  worser'n  ourn.  The  water  are  risin'  mighty 
brisk  in  Bayou  Blanc,  an'  Mr.  Tobias  are  a-bawlin'  fer 
help.  He  kin  outbawl  a  panther;  him.  Mr.  RonaP 
have  went  over  to  Gole  Mine  an'  Mr.  Fergus  an'  Mr. 


172  THE  GRINDING 

Placide  has  tooken  all  our  ban's  fum  Esperance  an'  has 
went  to  our  swamp." 

"  Of  course,"  thought  Catherine,  "  Ronald  is  help- 
ing at  Gold  Mine.  His  interests  are  all  there.  We  can 
drown  for  anything  he  cares."  She  stood  watching 
the  rising  water  after  Ananias  and  Pidgeon  had  splashed 
away  toward  the  rear  of  the  house,  and  not  knowing 
the  importance  of  stopping  the  break  at  Gold  Mine, 
(that  until  it  was  stopped  Esperance  would  not  be 
safe),  she  thought  bitterly  of  Ronald. 

Down  the  bayou  road  came  Jacques  Lirette,  riding 
like  the  wind.  Seeing  her,  he  dashed  in  at  the  gate 
and  stopped  his  panting  pony  at  the  foot  of  the  steps. 
She  came  part  way  down  and  stood  on  a  level  with  him. 
"  Is  the  water  rising  at  Bergerac?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  didn'  went  that  far,"  he  replied.  "  I  was  over 
to  Poisson's,  an'  the  water  haven't  riz  there.  It's  jes' 
here  to  Esperance  and  over  yonder  to  Gole  Mine,  an' 
down  the  bayou,  I  reckon." 

"  Is  there  danger  that  we  shall  drown? "  she 
asked. 

"  No,  Mees  Catrine,"  he  answered.  "  No  one  to  es- 
perance,  neither  to  Gole  Mine.  Down  to  the  Settle- 
ment? Perhaps."  His  face  was  of  a  marble  white- 
ness, but  it  was  not  the  pallor  of  fear.  He  wore  an  ex- 
pression of  courage  and  manliness  at  variance  with  his 
usual  boyish  beauty.  She  noted  this  change,  but,  at 
the  same  moment,  her  sub-conscious  mind  took  in  the 
luster  of  the  dark  eyes  and  the  sweetness  of  the  lips 
that  seemed  made  for  laughter. 


THE  GRINDING  173 

"  I  mus'  go  help  my  people,"  he  said,  "  but  I  thought 
you  might  be  skeered  — " 

"  I  am,"  she  acknowledged,  "  and  I'm  lonely.  But 
I  always  am." 

He  looked  at  her  in  perplexity.  Why  should  a  great 
lady,  the  owner  of  a  plantation  with  all  the  duties  and 
occupations  that  that  entailed,  be  lonely?  Yet,  mani- 
festly, she  was  longing  for  companionship.  The  two 
young  faces  were  similar  in  coloring  and,  at  the  mo- 
ment, bore  an  intangible  resemblance,  although  his 
beauty  was  of  the  solitude  of  the  bayou;  hers,  of  gen- 
erations of  culture  and  contact  with  the  world.  Yet 
each  asked  an  unspoken  question:  hers  was  a  passion- 
ate seeking  for  companionship;  his,  an  entreaty.  "  Do 
not  make  a  plaything  of  my  heart,"  his  seemed  to  say. 

"  Are  you  really  in  danger  of  drowning  at  the  Settle- 
ment? "  she  asked. 

"  It  is  possible,"  he  replied. 

"  Oh,  don't  go!  "  she  ejaculated.  "  Stay  where  you 
will  be  safe." 

His  startled  look  rebuked  her.  What  had  she  meant, 
it  asked  plainly.  "  I  mus'  go  help  my  people,"  he 
repeated  then,  bending  toward  her  he  extended  his 
hand.  She  laid  hers  in  it.  His  eyes  questioned  her 
but  after  an  instant  he  released  it,  saying,  "  I'm  more 
'n  sure  Esperance  will  be  save'." 

She  watched  him  riding  away  —  perhaps  to  his 
death  —  and  she  flushed  at  the  construction  he  might 
put  upon  her  words.  But  she  defended  herself  against 
her  own  accusations.  Surely,  she  .argued,  he  must 


174  THE  GRINDING 

have  known  it  was  only  because  she  wished  to  save  him 
from  danger  that  she  had  spoken  so.  It  was  not  a 
special  anxiety,  more  than  she  would  have  felt  for  any- 
one else.  But  his  instantaneous  recognition  of  her  in- 
terest warned  her  of  danger.  She  had  acted  rashly, 
she  knew.  She  would  never  have  allowed  his  father 
to  take  her  hand  —  then  why  had  she  let  Jacques? 
She  refused  to  answer  the  question. 

The  lapping  of  the  water  against  the  steps  recalled 
her  to  the  threatening  danger,  and  suddenly  she  real- 
ized that  it  was  growing  dark.  Where  were  Fergus 
and  Ronald,  she  wondered  with  a  sharp  contraction  of 
the  heart.  She  could  hear  the  servants  moving  from 
room  to  room  and  as  she  went  into  the  house,  Mar- 
celline  met  her  in  the  hall,  her  arms  full  of  bundles. 
The  old  woman  looked  searchingly  at  her,  but  said 
nothing. 

"  Do  you  think  it's  necessary  to  move  everything?  " 
Catherine  asked.  "  We're  not  really  in  danger,  are 
we?  " 

"  We  has  to  be  ready,  Miss  Catrine,"  Marcelline  re- 
plied. "  The  water  moutn't  come  into  the  house,  an' 
then  agin,  it  mout.  It  are  risin'.  They  hasn't  stop' 
the  breaks  yit.  An  now,  Miss  Catrine,  effen  you  is 
willin',  Unc'  Nias'll  go  over  to  the  quarters  an'  save 
the  things  fum  our  cabins." 

Until  that  moment,  it  had  not  occurred  to  Catherine 
that  their  poor  little  possessions  were  in  danger  while 
they  were  saving  hers.  Remorsefully  she  exclaimed, 
"Why,  Marcelline,  of  course!  You  can  all  go." 


THE  GRINDING  175 

"  No,  Ma'am,"  Marcelline  answered  calmly,  "  we 
ain't  er  gwine  ter  do  like  Chukey  have  did.  I  is 
gwine  ter  stay,  an'  so  are  Pidgeon.  He  kin  keep  on 
pilin'  them  things  in  the  upstairs  hall."  With  quiet 
efficiency,  she  moved  about,  lighting  the  lamps,  giving 
a  touch  here  and  a  touch  there,  and  making  the  bleak 
rooms  as  habitable  as  possible.  "  An'  now  we  mus'  git 
dinner  ready,"  she  finally  said,  "  'case  them  gentlemens 
is  gwine  be  hongry  when  they  gits  back.  I  reckon 
they's  never  wukked  as  much  in  they  hull  lives  as  they 
has  this  day." 

The  water  was  rippling  against  the  back  steps  and 
the  sides  of  the  raised  walk  that  led  from  the  back 
gallery  to  the  kitchen,  but  the  sky  was  clear  and  the 
stars  shone  with  piercing  brightness.  Catherine, 
standing  in  the  dining-room  door  shuddered  as  the 
night  wind  came  whispering  through  the  trees.  She 
was  afraid  to  stay  alone,  except  for  Pidgeon  who  was 
groping  around  in  the  semi-darkness,  stumbling  over 
obstructions  and  making  strange  noises  as  he  dragged 
things  about.  After  hesitating  a  moment,  she  followed 
Marcelline  to  the  kitchen  where,  seated  on  a  three- 
legged  stool  before  the  fire,  she  watched  her  while  she 
moved  about  the  great,  old-fashioned  kitchen,  handling 
various  weird-looking  utensils.  Catherine  thought  of 
a  prophetess  at  her  incantations.  But  there  was  noth- 
ing witch-like  in  Marcelline's  appearance.  She  was  a 
tall,  stately  negress  with  a  calm,  gentle  expression  of 
countenance.  A  restful  person  who  gave  one  that  in- 
definable impression  of  power,  of  order  and  comfort 


176  THE  GRINDING 

which  seemed  the  special  gift  of  the  well-trained  planta- 
tion servant. 

After  a  long  silence,  Catherine  said,  "  Did  you  ever 
see  people  have  as  hard  times  as  we  have?  " 

"  Harder!  A  heap  harder!  "  the  old  woman  replied 
emphatically.  "  Onct,  in  Lafourche,  they  was  sech 
high  water,  hit  stood  fifteen  feet  deep  over  the  talles' 
cane.  They  sont  out  relief  boats  fer  the  poor  trash  like 
them  people  down  to  the  Settlement."  She  paused  and 
looked  at  her  young  mistress.  "  Them  pore  critters 
doesn't  never  have  no  comfort  like  you  has  it.  They 
best  times  is  wusser'n  you  wust  times.  An'  they 
doesn't  know  how  ter  take  keer  on  theyselves,  no 
times." 

Catherine  winced.  Was  there  any  special  meaning 
in  Marcelline's  words?  Was  she  warning  her  not  to 
cross  over  into  a  life  of  which  she  was  ignorant?  She 
reddened  in  the  firelight  and  pushed  her  stool  back 
into  the  shadow. 

"  But  our  Madam  were  quality,"  Marcelline  went 
on.  "  She  were  quality,  an'  she  were  fum  the  kentry, 
an'  she  knowed  how  to  take  keer  on  herself,  'thout  no 
relief  boat.  She  fish  outen  the  winder;  an'  the  Mar- 
ster,  he  tu'n  all  the  live  stock  loose  an'  let  them  save 
theyselves.  An'  all  the  niggers  went  away  'case  they 
had  to  go  to  git  grub.  An'  the  Marster,  he  tuk  an' 
pull  the  boards  fum  the  cabins  in  the  quarters,  an'  he 
knock  down  the  kitchen  chimbley,  an'  he  lay  them 
bricks  roun'  the  aidges  er  the  rooms,  an'  he  lay  them 


THE  GRINDING  177 

boards  on  ter  the  bricks  fer  to  make  floors  top  er  the 
water,  an'  he  histed  the  furnitures  — " 

"  How  long  did  it  last?  "  Catherine  interrupted. 

"  Six  weeks  er  less,"  the  old  woman  answered  ab- 
sently, bending  to  shovel  fresh  coals  from  the  front 
of  the  fireplace  and  heap  the  glowing  mass  on  top  of 
the  iron  Dutch  oven  in  which  the  meat  was  roasting, 
"  hit  mout  er  ben  more,  er  — " 

"  Oh,  Aunt  Marcelline!  "  Catherine  wailed,  uncon- 
sciously using,  for  the  first  time,  the  endearing  title 
familiar  to  every  southern-bred  child,  "  it  might  hap- 
pen to  us.  Every  bad  thing  that  can  happen,  happens 
to  us.  Oh,  I  wish  to  heaven  Fergus  and  Ronald  would 
come!  Why  don't  they  come!  " 

Marcelline  stood  upright,  majestic  in  her  tone  and 
manner  as  she  looked  down  on  her  young  mistress 
and  said  gently:  "  You  is  yong,  Miss  Catrine,  an'  it 
take  a  long  time  to  learn  patience.  My  maw  were 
sol'  away  fum  her  ole  man  an'  her  chillen,  up  yonder 
in  Fuginniah,  but  she  use'  to  say  to  us  pickaninnies 
what  was  bo'n  after  she  come  yeah — 'case  me  an' 
my  sisters  an'  my  twin  brother — " 

"  You  had  a  twin  brother?  "  Catherine  interrupted, 
nervously  impatient  of  this  prolixity. 

"  Yas'm,  I  were  a  twin,  an'  we-alls  was  bo'n  down 
yeah, —  nigh  to  Malabar  —  an'  my  maw  use'  to  say 
to  we-alls:  '  Patience!  Patience,  chilluns.  Effen  you 
doesn't  have  patience,  you  has  to  have  impatience,  an' 
that  are  wuss.' " 


178  THE  GRINDING 

Pidgeon's  voice,  hallooing  from  the  back  gallery,  now 
made  itself  heard.  There  was  no  mistaking  the  agi- 
tation in  his  tones:  "I  didn't  went  to  do  it,  Miss 
Catrine.  I  scacely  teched  it,  an'  it  went  an'  busted 
of  itself." 

"  What  you  hollerin'  that-a-way  fer?  "  Marcelline 
demanded  sternly  from  the  kitchen  door. 

"  Come  quick,  Miss  Marcelline,"  he  wailed.  "  The 
box  in  under  the  baid  have  busted,  an'  the  things  is 
runnin'  around  everywheres." 

"  What  in  the  world  is  the  matter?  "  Catherine  de- 
manded, following  Marcelline  into  the  house.  Led 
by  the  sound  of  Pidgeon's  passionate  reiteration  of, 
"  I  didn't  went  to  do  it,"  she  made  her  way  to  the  bed- 
room where,  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  she  beheld  the 
remains  of  the  white  velvet  box  crushed  into  splinters, 
and  half  hidden  under  a  mass  of  copper  coins. 

"The  coin  collection!  "  she  cried,  dropping  on  her 
knees  and  burying  her  hands  in  the  metal.  What 
might  this  not  mean  to  them?  The  Smithsonian  Insti- 
tution had  at  one  time  wished  to  buy  it.  Perhaps  it 
would  redeem  them  from  their  bondage. 

When,  at  midnight,  Fergus  came  in  with  the  good 
news  that  the  crevasse  in  the  swamp  levee  had  been 
stopped,  Catherine  met  him  with  the  almost  unbe- 
lievable statement  that  his  coin  collection  was  found. 


XX 

A  S  Catherine  looked  back  on  that  first  summer  in 
^  ^  the  country,  it  seemed  to  have  been  nothing  but 
one  long,  continuous  rain,  which  soaked  the  ground 
and  kept  her  a  solitary  prisoner  in  the  great,  empty, 
echoing  house;  wandering  drearily  from  room  to  room 
and  looking  out  of  streaming  windows  at  a  landscape 
where  not  a  living  creature  was  moving.  Day  after 
day  and  all  day  long,  Fergus  and  Ronald  were  absent, 
coming  home  late,  with  boots  and  clothing  soaked 
and  splashed  with  mud.  When  she  asked  what  they 
had  been  doing,  they  usually  answered  that  they  were 
watching  the  levees  -to  prevent  another  crevasse. 
There  was  no  use  trying  to  make  comfortable  a  house 
where  buckets  and  tubs  stood  in  every  room  to  catch 
the  water  that  dripped  through  the  broken  roof,  and 
where  the  cracked  walls  looked  leprous  in  their  damp- 
ness with  streams  of  moisture  trickling  downward. 
Her  shoes  mildewed  in  the  armoire;  her  clothing  —  in 
fact,  everything  she  touched  —  seemed  blue  with 
mould.  When  she  once  tried  to  sew,  in  despair  of  any 
other  occupation,  her  rusted  needle  broke  in  her  hand. 
Finally  she  reached  the  limit  of  her  endurance  when, 
opening  a  bureau  drawer,  she  found  a  snake  coiled 
on  her  clothing. 

179 


180  THE  GRINDING 

Marcelline  came  running  at  her  shrieks.  "  Is  you 
hurt,  Miss  Catrine?  "  she  cried. 

Catherine,  cowering  back  against  the  wall,  pointed 
with  shaking  finger.  "A  snake,  Marcelline!"  she 
gasped. 

"  Oh,  yes,  honey,"  Marcelline  said,  trying  to  com- 
fort her,  "  sometimes  they  does  creep  into  hidin'  places 
like  that,  when  they's  wet  weather." 

"  They  might  get  into  my  bed,"  Catherine  cried, 
horror-struck. 

"  I  never  year  tell  er  they  gettin'  into  folkses  beds," 
Marcelline  assured  her;  opening  the  window  and 
adroitly  emptying  the  contents  of  the  drawer  on  to  the 
ground.  "  I'll  leave  you  clo'es  layin'  a  spell,"  she  said, 
"  the  rain'll  do  'em  good." 

"  I  don't  want  ever,  ever  to  wear  those  things  again 
—  after  a  snake  has  lain  on  them,"  she  declared. 

"  'Twant  nothin'  but  a  chicken  snake,"  Marcelline 
said  soothingly;  "  'Twant  no  pison  snake." 

"  It  might  have  bitten  me!  "  she  cried. 

"  I  reckon  it  would,  effen  you'd  a  teched  it.  But  it 
wouldn't  a  pisoned  you  —  no  more'n  a  hawg,  er  a 
geese.  Anything  what  bites  mout  pison  you  a  little. 
'Tain't  good  to  be  bited  by  animules;  ner  by  nothin'." 

"  It  would  have  killed  me,"  Catherine  cried  shud- 
deringly.  "  I'd  have  died  if  a  snake  had  bitten  me  — 
any  kind  of  a  snake  —  and  a  great  serpent  like  that." 

At  supper  she  burst  into  a  flood  of  lamentations  at 
having  to  live  in  a  place  where  they  were  subject  to 
such  frightful  experiences.  "  Who  would  ever  have 


THE  GRINDING  181 

believed  such  things  would  happen  to  us?  "  she  cried. 
"  Can't  we  give  it  up?  It's  too  terrible  out  here." 

"  What  should  you  advise  us  to  do?  "  Ronald  asked. 
He  was  wondering  what  her  underlying  thought  really 
was.  How  could  she  fail  to  know  that  this  was  a  life 
and  death  struggle?  That  she  and  Fergus  must  not 
give  up  the  fight?  He  —  Ronald  —  could  desert  them 
if  he  chose;  but  they  were  as  fatally,  inevitably  bound 
as  if  this  were  the  raft  to  which  they  must  cling.  So 
he  was  serious  in  asking  the  question  which  she  thought 
sarcastic. 

"  Is  it  worth  all  this  struggle,  Fergus?  "  she  asked. 
"  Couldn't  we  begin  boring  for  oil  or  gas  or  whatever 
is  there,  and  then,  when  Mr.  Ogers  comes,  get  the 
money  to  finish  —  and  then  go  back  to  the  city?  " 

"  No,  dear,"  Fergus  answered  wearily.  "  The  very 
life  of  the  people  out  here  depends  on  the  success  of 
the  planters.  But  even  if  we  cared  nothing  for  them, 
the  existence  of  gas  or  oil  (in  paying  quantities)  is 
so  doubtful  and  the  problem  of  boring  in  this  sandy 
soil  is  so  difficult,  it  would  take  a  great  deal  more  money 
than  we  could  possibly  command.  At  present,  it  looks 
as  if  we  should  have  good  prices  for  our  sugar.  There 
is  a  scarcity  in  other  parts  of  the  world,  and  further, 
the  government  needs  the  tariff  for  revenue,  so  I 
think—" 

"  But  Mr.  Ogers  is  so  rich,"  she  interrupted.  "  And 
he  was  such  a  friend  of  Ronald's.  I  know  he'll  be 
interested  when  he  sees  the  gas  pocket.  And  think  of 
the  fortunes  made  in  other  places." 


182  THE  GRINDING 

"He  isn't  coming,"  Ronald  said  as  she  paused  in 
her  appeal.  "  He  has  changed  his  mind." 

Her  white  face  grew  visibly  whiter.  "  So  that  has 
failed  us  too/'  she  said  in  a  scarcely  audible  voice. 

Looking  at  her  with  a  passionate  pity,  Ronald  would 
have  given  anything  to  take  back  his  words.  Why 
had  he  spoken  so  impulsively!  "  I  mean,"  he  began, 
"  we  can't  rely  on  outside  help.  What  we  have,  we 
must  get  for  ourselves — " 

"  I  see,"  she  replied,  looking  down  at  her  plate.  "  I 
understand." 

"  We're  not  going  to  starve,"  he  went  on,  feeling  that 
she  thought  him  unsympathetic  and  that  she  blamed 
him,  perhaps,  for  this  fresh  disappointment.  "  I'm 
sorry  Ogers  changed  his  mind,  but  you  know  he's  in 
such  demand  everywhere  that  one  can  never  count  on 
him.  It  takes  some  strong  inducement  to  lure  him 
away  from  his  habitual  haunts." 

"  You  thought  he  was  coming,  didn't  you?  "  she 
asked  still  looking  down. 

"  Yes,  he's  fond  of  fishing  and  I  thought  he  might 
enjoy  a  trip  to  Barataria  Bay."  He  wished  he  could 
justify  himself  in  her  eyes.  It  hurt  and  shocked  him 
to  have  her  feel  that  he  was  wounding  her  wantonly. 
For  a  moment,  he  wished  she  knew  what  a  sacrifice 
he  was  making  for  her  sake  and  Fergus's  in  staying 
in  the  country.  Then  he  put  the  thought  from  him. 

In  the  days  that  followed,  she  fell  into  a  fathomless 
despair  that  neither  Fergus  nor  Ronald  fully  realized. 
They  were  in  the  midst  of  activities  that  took  every 


THE  GRINDING  183 

ounce  of  strength;  Ronald  was  buoyed  up  by  the  hope 
of  helping  Fergus  on  to  his  feet,  and  of  getting  the 
plantation  into  a  really  prosperous  condition. 

Fergus  had  the  all-absorbing,  entrancing  recreation 
of  cataloguing  his  coins  anew.  It  was  immaterial  to 
him  that  the  gold  and  silver  pieces  had  all  been  picked 
out  and  nothing  but  copper  remained.  The  pecuniary 
value  of  the  collection  was  of  minor  importance;  that 
he  could  no  longer  hope  to  realize  a  large  amount  from 
its  sale  was,  perhaps,  an  unacknowledged  relief,  as  he 
need  not  feel  it  his  duty  to  part  with  it,  but  could  in- 
dulge himself  in  the  pleasure  of  sorting  and  tabulating 
it  with  a  clear  conscience. 

Catherine  alone,  without  occupation,  was  listlessly 
watching  the  endless  succession  of  days  and  nights, 
hoping  for  nothing  better  than  a  bare  existence,  and  a 
prolongation  of  life. 

It  is  true,  there  were  occasional  intervals  of  clear 
weather  when  the  sun  shone  hot,  the  wet  earth  steamed, 
and  clouds  of  insects  filled  the  air  with  their  humming; 
when  her  garden  blossomed  riotously,  the  birds  sang 
their  thanksgiving  that  the  rain  was  past,  and  Cath- 
erine ventured  out  into  the  light  of  day;  but  these 
intervals  were  so  rare  that  she  remembered  the  season, 
ever  afterward,  as  one  of  uninterrupted  imprisonment. 

No  one  but  so  skilled  a  planter  as  Placide  Chauvin 
could  have  wrested  success  from  that  unpropitious  sea- 
son. But  he  knew  just  where  and  how  to  save  the 
laborers  and  the  mules,  and  how  to  place  them  to  the 
greatest  advantage;  and  when,  at  last,  with  early  au- 


184  THE  GRINDING 

tumn,  the  clouds  rolled  away  and  there  was  contin- 
uous clear  weather,  he  could  show  a  good  stand  of 
cane  as  the  result  of  the  long-continued  battle.  Every 
one  but  Catherine  felt  an  immeasurable  sense  of  relief; 
she,  alone,  remained  indifferently  aloof,  not  consider- 
ing the  reward  sufficient  to  repay  one  for  the  effort. 
The  mere  prolongation  of  the  struggle,  as  she  con- 
sidered it,  seemed  to  her  a  misfortune  rather  than  a 
blessing. 

When,  at  last,  the  grinding  was  fairly  under  way, 
she  used  sometimes  to  stand  on  her  gallery  and  watch 
the  cutters  in  the  neighboring  field.  The  broad  knives, 
wielded  by  skilful  hands,  flashed  in  the  sunlight  as 
they  stripped  the  leaves  from  the  stalk,  now  on  this 
side,  now  on  that.  With  one  motion,  they  swept  off 
the  plumy  top;  with  another,  they  cut  the  stalk  a 
few  inches  above  the  ground  and  tossed  it  on  to  the 
ever-growing  heaps  that  marked  their  progress.  The 
carts  drawn  by  mules,  went  creeping  along,  loaded  with 
stalks  to  be  emptied  in  the  cane  shed.  From  the 
smoke-stacks  of  the  sugar  house  a  cloud  of  steam 
floated  into  the  deep  blue  sky,  and  when  the  breeze 
came  from  that  direction,  it  brought  a  faint  perfume 
and  the  musical,  deep-toned  humming  of  the  sap  boil- 
ing in  the  great  kettles. 

It  was  especially  at  night  that  the  cheerful  activity 
was  apparent  and  one  evening,  lingering  after  Ronald 
had  gone,  Fergus  asked  her  if  she  wouldn't  enjoy  going 
over  and  watching  the  grinding. 

"  It  is  really  picturesque,  you  know,"  he  urged,  anx- 


THE  GRINDING  185 

ious  to  rouse  her  from  her  silence  and  melancholy; 
"  come  and  look  on  for  a  while." 

Listlessly  she  acquiesced,  wrapping  herself  in  a 
shawl  and  tying  a  faded  scarf  about  her  head. 

"  Wrap  yourself  up  warmly,"  he  said.  "  It's  cold, 
you  know  —  perfect  sugar  weather." 

"  I'm  warm,"  she  answered  laconically. 

As  they  crossed  the  bridge  and  approachea  the  sugar 
house,  the  lights  sparkled  frostily  and  the  air  was  heavy 
with  the  sweetness  of  the  sugary  sap  oozing  from  the 
pile  of  bagasse  (as  the  crushed  refuse  of  the  cane  is 
called),  which  lay  in  a  heap  at  one  side  of  the  build- 
ing. 

"  You  know,  Cathie,"  he  explained,  "  we  make  what 
is  called  open  kettle  sugar.  It's  the  old,  wasteful 
method,  but  perhaps  another  year  we  may  be  able  to 
improve  our  mill  somewhat.  The  utmost  we  hope  for 
this  year  is  to  have  a  little  margin  left  after  we  have 
paid  George  Burbank  the  money  he  lent  us.  He 
mustn't  suffer  for  his  generosity." 

"  Yes,"  she  replied,  in  the  words  which  had  become 
almost  stereotyped  with  her,  "  I  know;  I  believe  I 
understand  the  situation." 

"  There  are  some  advantages  too,"  he  added,  smil- 
ing affectionately  at  her.  "  It's  only  from  the  open 
kettle  sugar  we  can  get  the  strop  de  batterie,  you  know, 
and  the  cuite.  And  this  kind  of  sugar  makes  the  only 
perfect  pralines.  Have  Marcelline  make  you  some, 
and  have  her  drop  them  on  corn  shucks  in  the  old 
way." 


186  THE  GRINDING 

She  smiled  faintly,  thinking  how  strange  it  was  that 
he  could  imagine  she  would  be  diverted  like  a  child 
with  pralines;  yet,  because  she  understood  his  motive, 
she  wished  to  seem  appreciative. 

As  they  entered  the  rickety  old  building  with  its 
whitewashed  walls,  and  beams  and  rafters  dripping 
moisture,  they  were  enveloped  in  the  warm,  honeyed 
atmosphere.  Through  the  steam,  she  saw  figures  mov- 
ing. Everywhere  was  motion ;  great  wheels  and  bands 
and  arms  of  machinery,  thumping  and  jarring  until  the 
old  walls  trembled.  In  the  distance  she  saw  the  row 
of  sugar  kettles,  and  beside  them,  the  men  who  were 
tending  the  boiling  sap.  Stripped  to  the  waist,  they 
would  have  looked  like  bronze  statues  but  for  the 
swaying  motion  with  which  they  wielded  their  long 
paddles,  skimming,  skimming,  skimming  the  kettles  in 
time  to  a  song  they  were  singing. 

As  Fergus  led  her  along,  she  saw  the  furnaces  where 
fires  were  roaring,  and  as  she  looked,  one  of  the  fire- 
men opened  the  door  and  the  flames  leaped  out  toward 
him,  showing  his  dark  figure  in  high  relief  against  the 
fiery  background. 

The  cold  air,  blowing  in  at  an  open  window,  tossed 
the  wreaths  of  steam  upward  into  the  roof,  and  as  she 
stood  looking  out  into  the  night,  an  automobile  horn 
sounded  nearby,  and  a  moment  later  the  great  car 
from  Gold  Mine  swept  around  the  corner  of  the 
building. 

She  did  not  know  that  this  visit  was  as  complete  a 
surprise  to  Ronald  as  it  was  to  her,  and  when  she  saw 


THE  GRINDING  187 

him  go  out  to  meet  the  Blaises,  her  heart  hardened 
with  a  totally  unreasonable  anger.  He  brought  them 
into  the  building  welcoming  them  cordially  and  show- 
ing them  around  as  if  this  had  been  a  previous  arrange- 
ment. Catherine,  wishing  to  escape  notice,  shrank 
back  into  the  shadows.  She  had  an  impulse  to  take  the 
worn  scarf  from  her  head,  then,  with  scorn,  she  re- 
frained from  doing  so,  thinking  it  more  appropriate 
to  the  place  than  the  Blaises'  costly  furs  and  rich  cos- 
tumes. 

"  Don't  you  think  we  can  slip  away,  Fergus?  "  she 
whispered. 

"  No,"  he  answered  in  a  low  tone,  "  they  see  us," 
and  he  stepped  forward,  courteously  greeting  and  mak- 
ing them  welcome. 

Catherine  followed,  but  with  a  freezing  hauteur  that 
made  both  Fergus  and  Ronald  sorry  for  their  guests. 

Mrs.  Blaise,  her  diamond  ear-rings  flashing  in  the 
lamp  light,  smiled  nervously,  showing  a  gold  tooth  as 
she  did  so.  Modesta,  exquisite  in  a  tailored  gown  — 
the  very  last  expression  of  fashion, —  exclaimed  in  a 
thin,  high-pitched,  nasal  voice,  over  "  this  cunning  little 
sugar  house "  the  while  she  scrutinized  Catherine's 
shabby  garments.  Mr.  Blaise  alone  was  perfectly  self- 
possessed  in  spite  of  his  soiled  clothing  and  rusty  boots. 
He  had  come  to  see  the  sugar  house  and  he  didn't  care 
how  haughty  Catherine  chose  to  be,  especially  as  he 
had  very  definite  plans  as  to  how  he  would  eventually 
subdue  her  pride.  His  pale  eyes,  set  close  together, 
were  as  alert  as  those  of  a  lynx,  darting  everywhere 


188  THE  GRINDING 

and  comprehending  what  he  saw  far  better  than  either 
Fergus  or  Ronald. 

"You  know,  Miss  Maine,"  Mrs.  Blaise  said  after 
the  first  greeting,  "  Modesta  and  myself  wanted  so 
much  to  see  this  queer  old  way  of  making  sugar." 

"Oh,  Mama!  "  Modesta  interrupted,  "you  know 
yourself  it  was  Dad  made  you  and  I  come.  I  said  I 
was  afraid  that — " 

"  Yes,  that's  so,"  Mrs.  Blaise  agreed,  "  he  kep' 
sayin'  to  Modesta  and  I  '  Why  don't  you-all  go  over 
and  see  Maine's  sugar  house?  There  ain't  no  more 
open  kettle  sugar  houses  in  this  parish.' ' 

"  Is  it  different  from  others?  "  Catherine  asked. 

"  Different!  "  Mrs.  Blaise  exclaimed.  "  Gracious, 
yes !  You  must  come  over  to  Gold  Mine  and  see  ours." 

"  Thank  you,"  Fergus  interposed  hastily,  foresee- 
ing a  rebuff  from  Catherine,  "  we  shall  take  pleasure 
in  coming.  I  am  interested  to  see  the  difference.  As 
you  know,  we  have  everything  to  learn."  His  manner 
was  so  frankly  kind  it  formed  the  most  striking  con- 
trast to  Catherine's. 

Ananias  approached  with  a  dipper  of  warm  sap. 
"  Will  you  taste  it,  Miss  Catrine?  "  he  asked. 

She  offered  it  to  Mrs.  Blaise  then  to  Modesta  say- 
ing, "  I  suppose  it  is  no  novelty  to  you.  Are  you  fond 
of  it?  " 

"Heavens,  no!  "  Modesta  replied  with  an  affected 
shudder.  "  I  never  tasted  it;  but  you  know  I've  been 
out  here  so  little.  Away  at  school  so  long,  and  then 
in  the  city,  I  don't  know  anything  about  the  — " 


THE  GRINDING  189 

"  Why,  Destie,"  her  mother  began,  but  was  silenced 
by  a  glance  from  the  daughter's  keen,  gray  eyes. 

Fergus,  meantime,  at  Mr.  Blaise's  request,  was  show- 
ing him  about,  and  asking  him  questions.  "  I  am  anx- 
ious to  learn,"  he  explained,  and  Mr.  Blaise,  peering, 
stooping,  fingering,  tasting,  replied,  "  I  reckon  so." 

The  others,  following  along  the  narrow  paths  be- 
tween the  machinery,  listened  to  the  explanations  of 
Ronald  who  was  wishing  sincerely  that  either  Cather- 
ine or  the  Blaises  had  stayed  at  home. 

"  I  simply  haven't  any  head  for  these  sort  of  things," 
Modesta  observed,  watching  Catherine  out  of  the  cor- 
ner of  her  eyes.  It  was  one  of  the  triumphs  of  her  life 
that  she  should  be  here  talking  to  Catherine  Maine 
whose  head  was  tied  up  in  an  old  scarf  and  her  shoul- 
ders wrapped  in  a  shawl  bought  from  the  peddler's 
cart.  Catherine  herself,  was  fully  alive  to  the  situa- 
tion, and,  consequently,  all  the  more  icy  in  manner. 

"  Dad  is  too  funny,"  Modesta  tittered  as  she  caught 
sight  of  her  father  crawling  from  some  dark  recess 
which  he  had  been  exploring.  "  He's  so  crazy  about 
planting  and  about  the  improvements  between  the  old 
way  of  making  sugar  and  the  new.  He  wants  to  teach 
me,  but  I  can't  bother  about  all  those  sort  of  things." 
She  smiled  archly  at  Ronald,  her  light,  sparkling  eyes 
brilliant  in  the  lamp  light. 

"  Probably  it  isn't  necessary,"  he  observed,  "  but  it's 
wise  to  prepare — " 

"  Oh,  I  know  what  you're  going  to  say,"  she  inter- 
rupted, "but  I  haven't  time  to  think  about  such 


190  THE  GRINDING 

things."  Then,  turning  to  Catherine,  "  I  suppose 
you're  a  regular  planter,  Miss  Maine.  I  expect  you 
know  just  what  all  those  awful  looking  machines  are 
for." 

"  No,"  said  Catherine,  "  it  is  the  first  time  I  have 
been  here." 

"  Miss  Maine,"  said  Mr.  Blaise,  "  this  is  mighty  in- 
teresting. I'm  glad  Destie  coaxed  us  to  come  over 
this  evening.  It's  been  a  bad  season,  Miss  Maine,  and 
they  tell  me  you're  discouraged  sometimes  and  feel 
homesick.  I  don't  blame  you,  Miss  Maine.  But  your 
brother  tells  me  he  counts  on  fighting  it  through. 
Hope  he  can.  Us  planters  have  got  to  stand  by  each 
other.  With  them  politicians  up  yonder  in  Washing- 
ton, trying  to  down  the  tariff;  and  with  high  water  and 
low  prices,  if  I  was  a  city  man,  I  wouldn't  take  up 
planting.  No,  sir!  I'd  stick  to  the  city.  But  I  don't 
blame  you  for  wanting  to  make  Esperance  pay.  But 
you  ain't  been  out  here  long  enough  to  know  what  a 
fight  it  is.  First  there  was  the  bounty,  and  we  all  goes 
ahead  and  makes  improvements  on  the  strength  of  that, 
and  we  runs  into  debt,  and  when  they  takes  off  the 
bounty  and  puts  on  a  low  tariff  —  there  we  are.  And 
one  day  it's  a  promise  of  big  prices,  and  then  comes 
some  politician  that  wants  to  get  ahead  and  knows 
free  trade  is  popular,  and  he  says,  '  Let  them  sugar 
planters  wiggle  out  the  best  way  they  can.  No  use 
boosting  a  pauper  industry.  Give  the  poor  man  a  free 
breakfas'  table,'  and  then  — " 

"  Oh,     Dad,"     Modesta     interrupted,     manifestly 


THE  GRINDING  191 

ashamed  of  her  father,  "  Miss  Maine  don't  care  for 
all  that  politics."  Then,  to  Catherine,  "  I  don't  hear 
another  thing  from  morning  to  night.  Dad's  so  inter- 
ested. When  Marc's  here,  I  almost  go  crazy  with 
their  talk  about  free  trade  and  tariff  and  all  those  kind 
of  things.  Marc  says  that  all  we  need  is  to  stand  to- 
gether —  the  planters  I  mean  —  and  send  a  smart  man 
to  Washington  to  look  after  our  interests.  I'm  sure 
they're  going  to  elect  him  senator;  don't  you  think 
so?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  Catherine  answered  indifferently. 
"  I'm  not  nearly  so  well  informed  as  you,  Miss  Blaise. 
These  things  are  new  to  me." 

"  Oh,  but  you  know  all  about  them  —  a  thousand 
times  more  than  I  do,"  Modesta  insisted,  "  because  it's 
really  Ronald  that  has  told  me  nearly  everything  I 
know." 

"  Marc  "  and  "  Ronald  "  Catherine  commented  in- 
wardly and  felt  the  shaft  Modesta  had  aimed  at  her  in 
parading  her  intimacy. 

"  We're  bound  to  elect  him,"  said  Mr.  Blaise.  "  If 
us  planters  don't  send  him  to  Washington,  we  ain't  got 
a  chance  to  get  on  our  feet,"  and  he  spat  impressively. 

Catherine,  Fergus  and  Ronald  stood  watching  the 
lights  of  the  automobile  as  it  went  gliding  through  the 
night  on  its  way  to  Gold  Mine. 

"  That  was  kindly  meant,"  Fergus  said.  "  You'll  go 
with  me  to  see  their  sugar  house,  won't  you  Cathie?  " 

"  Certainly,  if  you  wish  it,"  she  replied,  "  but  I  don't 
see  why  you  think  that  was  kindly  meant.  Didn't 


192  THE  GRINDING 

you  notice  how  that  man  pried  into  every  nook  and 
corner?  And  he's  a  planter,  born  and  bred.  He  isn't 
like  us  — " 

"  I  don't  think  he  meant  any  harm,  Catherine,"  Ron- 
ald expostulated.  "  He's  an  ardent  planter,  and  — " 

"  And  you're  an  ardent  advocate,"  she  replied. 
"  And  if  you  wish  to  play  into  his  hands  there  can  be 
only  one  explanation  of  your  blindness." 

Ronald,  who  had  been  nettled  by  her  conduct  to- 
ward their  guests  during  the  whole  evening,  boiled  over 
at  her  words.  "  The  incredible  folly  of  insulting  our 
most  influential  neighbors!  "  he  exclaimed  and  walked 
away. 

"  Don't  ask  me  to  go,  Fergus,"  she  cried  while  Ron- 
ald was  still  within  hearing.  "  It's  bad  enough  that 
such  people  are  in  our  parish.  I  won't  know  them. 
People  that  say  '  ain't '  and  murder  the  king's  English 
at  every  breath.  I'd  rather  talk  with  Ananias  who 
makes  no  preten  — " 

"  Or  with  Jacques  Lirette,"  Ronald  said  over  his 
shoulder  as  he  turned  to  go  into  the  sugar  house. 

For  a  moment  she  was  speechless  with  anger,  then, 
feeling  sure  that  Ronald  was  still  within  hearing,  she 
repeated  in  a  shaking  voice,  "  I  won't  know  them.  It 
may  be  to  Ronald's  interest  to  know  them.  It  isn't  to 
mine."  She  spoke  thoughtlessly,  not  realizing  the 
poisonous  wound  she  was  inflicting,  but  Ronald,  who 
had  heard  every  word,  believed  that  she  was  delib- 
erately insulting;  and  Fergus,  the  least  imaginative  of 


THE  GRINDING  193 

the  three,  who  shrank  from  controversy  as  from  a  phy- 
sical hurt,  determined  not  to  reopen  the  subject.  If 
she  had  made  up  her  mind  not  to  know  them,  he  would 
not  insist. 

At  last  the  season  drew  toward  its  close.  All  the 
cheerful  noise  and  bustle  about  the  sugar  house,  the 
sparkling  lights  at  night,  the  hum  of  the  boiling  sap  in 
the  great  kettles,  the  singing  of  the  workers  in  the  cane 
shed,  the  long  lines  of  carts  bringing  their  loads  of  cane 
from  the  fields,  and  the  joyous  stir  of  the  rolling  season 
would  soon  be  ended,  and  then  would  come  the  long 
months  of  stagnation  and  silence  for  Catherine.  On 
the  day  before  Christmas,  she  stood  on  the  side  gallery 
looking  at  the  brown  fields  so  recently  covered  with 
sugar  cane.  At  her  right,  Chukey's  husband,  Abime- 
lech,  with  two  or  three  others,  was  tending  the  long, 
low  fires  that  ran  along  the  furrows,  now  smoldering 
where  there  was  little  fuel,  now  flaring  into  bright- 
ness where  they  met  a  mound  of  the  withered  cane 
husks.  A  veil  of  smoke  fluttered  along  the  path  of 
flame,  and  through  it  she  saw  the  solemn  gray  of  the 
moss-shrouded  forest,  brightened,  here  and  there,  by  a 
vivid  green  tree  flaunting  its  scarlet  berries.  Above 
the  forest,  an  eagle  was  flying  and  she  watched  it  until 
it  disappeared  in  the  distance.  Near  at  hand  she  heard 
the  kildeers  calling  in  silvery  tones.  They  ran  swiftly 
by  her,  with  a  motion  suggestive  of  their  voices;  keen 
and  rapid,  half  bold,  half  timid.  The  air  was  so  still 
that  the  barking  of  a  dog  in  the  quarters,  the  lowing 


194  THE  GRINDING 

of  a  calf  wandering  in  the  woods  back  of  the  stable, 
the  flaf,  flaf,  flaf  of  a  motor  boat  far  up  the  bayou, 
reached  her  with  strange  distinctness. 

And  now  another  sound  broke  upon  her  ear:  a  sound 
of  voices  of  men  and  women  singing  in  unison,  and 
in  the  distance,  she  saw  a  crowd  approaching.  As  they 
came  nearer,  following  the  road  that  crossed  the  field, 
Abimelech  and  his  fellows  left  their  work  and  joined 
the  others  who,  according  to  immemorial  custom,  were 
bringing  in  the  last  load.  On  their  shoulders,  they 
carried  Placide  Chauvin,  whom  they  regarded  as  the 
true  master  of  Esperance. 

Silently,  she  watched  the  wild,  fantastic  procession, 
amazed  and  half  frightened  that  such  contrasts  should 
have  come  into  her  life. 


XXI 

*  I  "HE  transition  of  the  seasons  in  the  south  is  not 
A  clearly  denned.  They  melt  from  one  into  the 
other  without  marked  change,  and  so  it  was  a  surprise 
to  Catherine  when  she  discovered  the  white  wisteria 
which  covered  the  side  gallery,  carpeting  the  ground 
with  its  petals.  The  fruit  trees  awoke  from  their 
slumber  and  decked  themselves  with  flowers;  the  air 
was  redolent  with  the  perfume  of  orange  blossoms,  and 
the  ditch  banks  were  covered  with  pink  and  white 
primroses.  Spring  had  come.  The  sun  shone  warm 
and  ever  warmer,  the  birds  sang  more  and  more  tri- 
umphantly, and  then,  before  Catherine  realized  it,  sum- 
mer was  there. 

She  was  sitting  on  the  shady  gallery  one  morning 
when  Fergus  joined  her.  "  Just  think,"  he  said,  "  this 
is  June.  And  see  how  the  cane  is  growing."  Seating 
himself  beside  her,  he  took  from  his  pocket  a  long, 
narrow  envelope  of  a  delicate  rose  color  and,  forestall- 
ing her  probable  objections,  said,  "  I  know  you  don't 
like  the  people  of  Gold  Mine,  but  I  think  I  shall  accept 
this.  I  think  it  would  be  wise.  And  my  going  won't 
annoy  you,  will  it  Cathie?  " 

"  Why,  no,"  she  answered,  holding  out  her  hand  for 
the  invitation,  "  I  don't  want  to  be  thrown  with  them, 

195 


196  THE  GRINDING 

but  if,  for  business  reasons  it  seems  best  for  you  to 
go,  of  course,  you  must  do  what  is  necessary." 

"  And  shall  I  accept  for  us  both?  "  he  asked,  looking 
wistfully  at  her.  She  knew  he  wished  she  would  ac- 
cept personally  and  be  gracious  toward  those  people 
who  were  so  eager  to  be  intimate  with  her,  but  the 
utmost  she  could  force  herself  to  say  was,  "  Certainly. 
Accept  for  us  both,  and  then  you  won't  feel  hurt  if 
I  don't  go,  shall  you?  " 

"  I  think  it  would  be  well  to  go  if  you  can  make 
up  your  mind  to  do  it,"  he  answered. 

"  Ronald  has  been  talking  to  him  about  the  way  I 
treat  them,"  she  thought,  but  did  not  utter  her  sus- 
picions. Instead,  she  opened  the  perfumed  missive 
and  read: 

MR.  AND  MRS.  TOBIAS  BLAISE 

Miss  BLAISE 

request  the  pleasure  of  your  company  at 
a  dance  Friday,  June  the  fourteenth  at 
eight  of  the  clock 

R.S.V.P. 

"  Accept  it  if  you  like,"  she  said  and  handed  it  back 
without  other  comment. 

The  fourteenth  of  June  was  ushered  in  by  a  tremen- 
dous uproar  on  the  other  side  of  the  bayou.  The  dogs 
of  war  seemed  to  have  broken  loose.  Miss  Delicia,  the 
reserved  and  haughty  Miss  Delicia,  the  Mrs.  Grundy 
of  the  bayou,  walked  out  to  her  gate  with  a  gun  on 


THE  GRINDING  197 

her  shoulder,  aimed  at  some  invisible  object  in  the 
air,  and  fired. 

Miss  Victorine,  from  her  gate,  fired  an  answer.  From 
up  and  down  the  bayou  came  distant  reports  and  in 
every  direction  puffs  of  white  smoke  dotted  the  land- 
scape. 

"  What  on  earth  is  the  matter?  "  Catherine  asked, 
turning  from  the  window  as  Marcelline  entered  with 
the  morning  coffee.  Early  as  it  was,  Catherine  was 
fully  dressed,  and  Marcelline  perceived  by  her  pallor 
that  she  was  greatly  alarmed  by  these  warlike  demon- 
strations. "  What  is  the  matter?  "  she  repeated,  tak- 
ing the  cup  of  black  coffee  with  a  trembling  hand. 
"  Miss  Delicia  and  Miss  Victorine  seem  to  be  trying  to 
kill  each  other." 

"  They  is  jus'  scarin'  away  the  devil,"  Marcelline 
answered  reassuringly. 

A  fresh  volley  burst  from  a  lugger  as  it  passed  the 
gate  of  Esperance. 

"  Mercy!  "  Catherine  ejaculated,  "  has  a  feud  broken 
out?  Are  people  angry  at  us  about  anything?  " 

"No,  Ma'am,"  Marcelline  assured  her  soothingly; 
"  hit's  jes'  like  I  tells  you;  they's  scarin'  the  devil." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  '  scaring  the  devil '?  "  Cath- 
erine asked  tremulously  as  thunderous  reports  came 
from  somewhere  in  the  quarters.  "  I  wish  Mr.  Fergus 
and  Mr.  Ronald  wouldn't  go  across  the  bayou  to-day 
—  but  I  know  they  will." 

"  In  cose  they  will,  Miss  Catrine,"  said  Marcelline. 
"  'Twouldn't  be  fittin'  fer  the  Marster  to  stay  in  on 


198  THE  GRINDING 

the  Fete-Dieu."  (Corpus  Christi  Day.)  "  Eve'ybody 
scare  the  devil  on  that  day.  I  reckon  Miss  Aggie 
Blaise  are  a-firin'  to  beat  the  band.  She  wouldn't  let 
this  day  go  by  fer  nothin'  'thout  scarin'  the  devil. 
They  couldn't  scare  him  las'  year  'case  it  were  rainin', 
so  they  has  to  make  up  this  year." 

"  That  will  spoil  her  reception  to-night,"  Catherine 
said,  secretly  thinking  what  a  relief  it  would  be  not  to 
feel  that  she  ought  to  attend  that  function. 

"  No,  Ma'am,"  Marcelline  repeated,  "  that  ain't  goin' 
to  spile  nothin'.  Everybody  round  yeah  scare  away 
the  devil;  an'  I  reckon  it'll  all  be  over  by  to-night, 
they's  firm'  so  brisk.  They  powder'll  all  be  gone." 

Bang,  bang,  from  across  the  bayou,  and  bang,  bang, 
from  behind  the  stable.  The  dimple  in  Marcelline's 
cheek  revealed  itself  in  a  discreet  smile  of  amusement 
as  Catherine,  setting  down  her  cup  and  exclaiming,  "  I 
don't  like  that  at  all,"  left  the  room. 

As  she  approached  the  chicken  yard,  the  squealing 
of  pigs  and  bellowing  of  cattle  assured  her  that  the 
animals  didn't  like  it  either.  Ananias,  who  was  feed- 
ing the  chickens,  looked  at  her  as  she  entered  the  yard, 
and  there  was  something  in  his  expression  that  at- 
tracted her  attention.  She  regarded  him  searchingly. 
Certainly,  she  thought,  he  looked  guilty,  but  why,  she 
could  not  discover  until,  following  his  self-conscious 
glances,  she  discovered  some  chickens  in  a  little  enclos- 
ure apart  from  the  others. 

"  Where  did  they  come  from?  "  she  demanded  pick- 
ing up  one  of  the  downy  balls. 


THE  GRINDING  199 

He  laughed  in  a  deprecating  falsetto  and  made  no 
reply. 

"  Aren't  they  Rhode  Island  Reds?  "  she  asked. 

"  They  suttinly  is,"  he  replied,  scratching  his  head 
and  looking  beyond  her.  Turning,  she  discovered 
Fergus  watching  her  with  a  gratified  smile. 

"  Are  they  what  you  wanted?  "  he  asked. 

"  Wanted !  "  she  exclaimed,  "  I've  simply  longed  for 
some  ever  since  I  knew  there  were  such  things  in  the 
world.  Where  did  they  come  from?  " 

"  I  learned  they  could  be  had  from  Bergerac,  and 
the  peddler  brought  them  this  morning."  He  stood 
beside  her,  smiling  and  stroking  the  chirping  atom  with 
the  tip  of  one  finger. 

There  came  a  piercing  toot,  toot,  from  the  bayou, 
followed  by  a  fresh  outbreak  of  firing,  and  turning 
they  saw  an  unfamiliar  sight:  a  gasoline  launch  before 
the  gate  of  Esperance.  An  instant  later  a  young  man 
came  up  the  bank  and,  at  the  same  moment,  Ronald 
dashed  out  of  the  house  and  down  the  path  to  meet 
him.  There  could  be  no  doubt  of  it,  this  was  the  long- 
hoped-for,  long-delayed  Tom  Ogers. 

With  an  exclamation  of  pleasure,  Fergus  went  for- 
ward and  Catherine,  handing  the  chicken  to  Ananias, 
followed.  In  the  short  distance  between  the  gate  of 
the  chicken  yard  and  the  group  at  the  front  steps,  she 
saw  that  the  stranger  was  of  middle  height,  stout,  blond, 
slightly  bald,  with  white  teeth  and  a  pleasant  smile. 
Faultlessly  dressed,  and  with  an  air  of  perfect  ease,  he 
was,  unmistakably,  a  man  of  the  world.  "  Our  sort," 


200  THE  GRINDING 

she  thought,  and  her  heart  beat  quick  with  a  new  in- 
terest and  pleasure.  They  turned  toward  her  as  she 
approached,  and  he  never  forgot  the  impression  she 
made  upon  him;  her  slender  form,  her  small  head 
haughtily  poised,  her  dark  hair  disordered  by  the  breeze 
and  framing  the  pale  oval  of  her  aristocratic  young 
face. 

"  How  good  of  you,"  she  said,  extending  her  slender 
hand  in  welcome,  "  how  good  of  you  to  come  way  out 
here  into  the  wilderness  to  see  us." 

"  What  a  pleasure  I  am  giving  myself!  "  he  replied. 
How  exquisitely  he  was  groomed,  and  what  a  contrast 
his  clothes  were  to  the  shabby,  threadbare  garments  of 
Fergus  and  Ronald! 

A  man  came  up  the  path  carrying  a  trunk  on  his 
shoulder  and  followed  by  a  dark,  aquiline  gentleman 
whom  Catherine  recognized  after  a  moment's  bewilder- 
ment as  the  valet  of  their  guest.  "  You  see,"  said  Mr. 
Ogers,  "  I  have  taken  you  at  your  word  and  am  here, 
bag  and  baggage." 

"  You  couldn't  please  us  better,"  Fergus  assured  him 
in  his  quiet,  pleasant  manner.  "  We  all  camp  out 
after  a  fashion,  you  know,  but  as  far  as  space  is  con- 
cerned, there's  plenty  of  it,  and  we  can  put  you  up  as 
long  as  you  can  stay." 

In  a  little  flurry  of  excitement,  Catherine  went  to 
the  kitchen  to  order  an  omelet.  "  We  must  try  to  find 
something  nice  for  him,"  she  explained,  knitting  her 
brows  thoughtfully  and  adding,  "  I  don't  know  how 
we'll  manage." 


THE  GRINDING  201 

As  he  entered  the  dining-room  a  half  hour  later,  she 
felt  sure,  although  his  eyes  did  not  wander,  that  he 
took  in  all  the  details  of  cracked  walls,  curtainless 
windows,  bare  floor;  and  she  felt  a  homesick  longing 
for  the  dainty  breakfast  room  of  other  days,  while  that 
unworthy  sense  of  humiliation  over  merely  material 
things  that  we  all  experience  at  times,  crept  over  her. 

"  I  fear  we  have  kept  you  waiting,"  he  said  as  he 
seated  himself.  "  Ronald  and  I  had  so  much  to  talk 
over;  of  things  past,  present  and  things  to  come." 

She  noticed  that  he  left  his  plate  almost  untouched, 
but  he  sipped  his  coffee  with  the  air  of  a  connoisseur, 
observing,  "  Southern  cooks  make  the  best  coffee  in 
the  world.  Even  the  Turkish  doesn't  equal  it,  to  my 
mind,  and  the  French  is  far  inferior.  My  man  has 
learned  to  make  both  in  the  course  of  our  travels,  and 
he  must  learn  this."  Then,  speaking  to  Ronald,  "  Isn't 
it  five  years  since  I  saw  you?  " 

"Just  about,  I  think,"  Ronald  replied.  "Let  me 
see;  this  is  the  fourteenth  of  June.  It  was  on  the 
fourth  of  July,  five  years  ago,  that  we  met  by  accident 
at  the  Caje  de  la  Paix.  You  remember,  don't  you?  " 

"  Yes,  I  was  thinking  it  was  five  years.  You've 
changed  a  good  deal  in  looks  since  then."  He  offered 
his  gold  cigarette  case  to  Fergus  and  then  to  Ronald, 
with  a  smiling,  "  Will  you  permit  us?  "  to  Catherine, 
and  adding,  "  Or  will  you  join  us?  " 

"  Thank  you,"  she  said,  "  I  don't  smoke  —  although 
I  ought  to.  Women  in  the  country  have  so  few  enjoy- 
ments, they  ought  to  snatch  at  every  possible  diversion. 


202  THE  GRINDING 

I  believe  I'll  acquire  the  habit  of  smoking  a  corn  cob 
pipe." 

"  Don't,"  he  said.  "  I'm  sorry  women  have  taken  to 
smoking  as  they  do.  Their  lips  were  not  made  to  hold 
cigarettes.  You  used  not  to  smoke,  Ronald.  That's 
another  change." 

"  I  don't  smoke  a  great  deal,"  Ronald  protested. 
"  How  have  I  changed  otherwise?  " 

Mr.  Ogers'  eyes  ran  over  his  figure  before  he  an- 
swered, "  You're  older,  for  one  thing." 

"Naturally,"  Ronald  replied.  "The  clock  hasn't 
stood  still  during  these  years.  I  suppose  I  have  aged 
more  than  I  realize." 

"  I  dare  say,"  Mr.  Ogers  agreed,  "  and  shall  you  feel 
hurt  if  I  say  you  have  lost  a  little  of  the  fatal  gift?  " 

Catherine  glanced  from  one  to  the  other.  The  sun- 
light was  touching  Ronald's  crisp,  thick,  blond  hair  and 
lighting  up  his  sunburned  face  which  showed  a  blush  in 
its  healthy  glow,  contrasting  strangely  with  the  grayish 
pallor  of  the  other  man.  His  keen,  dark  gray  eyes, 
full  of  vivid  interest,  were  fixed  questioningly  on  the 
weary,  lusterless  ones  of  their  guest,  and  the  firm, 
strong  mouth  had  a  certain  grimness  in  strange  opposi- 
tion to  the  smiling,  sensual  lips  of  the  other. 

"You  have  matured  surprisingly,"  said  Mr.  Ogers, 
again  glancing  (perhaps  with  envy)  at  the  firmly  knit 
figure,  tall  and  strong  and  so  well  fitted  to  bear  the 
burdens  of  life;  whereas  his  own  shoulders  had  taken 
on  a  certain  softness  and  lack  of  contour. 

Catherine  felt  a  rush  of  pride  in  Ronald's  size  and 


THE  GRINDING  203 

strength.  He  looked  years  younger  than  his  former 
school  mate. 

"  You  know,"  said  Mr.  Ogers,  turning  to  Catherine 
and  totally  unsuspicious  of  the  contrast  she  was  draw- 
ing, "  when  he  came  to  Worcester,  with  his  curly  blond 
hair  and  pink  cheeks,  we  mistook  him  for  a  wax  doll. 
We  decided  to  shave  off  his  halo  and  I  volunteered  to 
act  as  barber.  I'll  never  forget  it,"  (turning  to  Ron- 
ald). "  I  can  see  you  yet,  standing  gripping  the  back 
of  your  chair  till  the  ends  of  your  fingers  were  white, 
your  whole  figure  keyed  up  to  spring,  as  I  headed  the 
procession  that  went  into  your  room." 

"  I  was  frightened  to  death,"  Ronald  acknowledged. 

"You  know,"  Mr.  Ogers  said  to  the  others,  "he 
was  large  and  strong  even  then,  and  I  didn't  like  the 
look  of  him  at  all.  I'd  have  backed  out  if  I  could, 
but  the  others  were  pushing  me  forward  so  there  was 
nothing  for  it  but  to  carry  out  the  program,  and  I 
said,  '  Good  evening  my  son;  what  is  your  name?  ' 
Before  the  words  were  fairly  out  of  my  mouth,  he  said, 
*  Good  evening,  father,  my  name  is  Nebuchadnezzar,' 
and  he  whirled  that  chair  around  and  struck  me  —  I 
have  that  scar  yet  Ronald,"  he  broke  off  with  a 
laugh.  "  Queer,  isn't  it,  how  boys  love  to  fight?  " 

"  Mr.  Ogers,"  Catherine  began. 

He  stopped  her  with  a  gesture  of  his  plump,  care- 
fully-manicured hand.  "  Surely,"  he  said,  "  you  are 
not  going  to  call  me  '  Mr.  Ogers.'  I  am  '  Tom,'  and 
you  will  permit  me  to  call  you  '  Catherine,'  won't  you? 
You  have  always  been  Catherine  to  me,  ever  since 


204  THE  GRINDING 

Ronald  used  to  show  me  your  letters  and  tell  me  of 
your  cunning,  little-girl  ways.  What  were  you  about 
to  say  when  I  interrupted  you?  " 

"  I  was  going  to  tell  you  of  a  reception  that  is  to  take 
place  to-night  on  a  neighboring  plantation.  I  think  it 
might  amuse  you  to  attend." 

"  Certainly,"  he  replied,  taking  out  his  handkerchief 
and  wiping  the  perspiration  from  his  face.  "  It  would 
amuse  me  immensely.  Ronald  was  speaking  of  it  and 
said  it  would  be  permissible  for  me  to  go  without  a 
personal  invitation.  What  is  the  name  of  the  girl? 
Piety?  " 

"  Modesta,"  Ronald  corrected. 

"Oh,  yes;  Modesta!  Modesta!  "  Mr.  Ogers  repeated. 
"  I  must  say  it  over  and  over  to  myself,  or  I  shall 
surely  call  her  Piety.  When  I  get  a  wrong  impression 
I  find  I  can't  get  rid  of  it.  I  knew  it  was  some  moral 
quality  she  represented,  and  I  keep  thinking  it's  some- 
thing religious.  It's  always  interesting  to  see  the 
natives  in  their  own  environment,"  Tom  continued  after 
a  brief  pause,  "  and  I  understand  this  Piety  —  there!  " 
with  a  laugh,  "  I  said  it  again !  I'm  doomed  to  call  her 
the  wrong  virtue;  Modesty  I  meant.  I  hear  she  is 
quite  a  country  belle." 

"Oh,  decidedly  so!"  Catherine  exclaimed  with 
heightened  color  and  a  teasing  glance  at  Ronald.  "  You 
must  certainly  see  her." 

"  I  wouldn't  miss  it  for  anything,"  Tom  replied, 
smiling  at  her  and  thinking  to  himself,  "  She  really  is 
charmingly  pretty.  Her  beauty  grows  on  one." 


THE  GRINDING  205 

"  But  I  haven't  anything  to  wear,"  she  said  with  a 
little,  tragic  gesture;  "  I  shall  disgrace  you  all." 

"  You  have  your  queen  dress,  haven't  you?  "  Fergus 
asked,  with  masculine  ignorance  of  women's  clothes. 

Catherine  broke  into  a  laugh  as  sweet  and  ringing 
as  a  child's.  "  How  amazed  every  one  would  be  if  I 
should  appear  in  that,"  she  exclaimed.  "Why,  Fer- 
gus dear,  it's  made  to  wear  with  a  mantle  and  it's  cov- 
ered with  lace  and  jewels.  I  should  outshine  Miss 
Piety  herself,"  and  she  smiled  mischievously  at  Ron- 
ald. 

"  She's  jealous,"  Tom  inwardly  commented.  Aloud, 
he  said,  "  You'll  put  it  on  for  me  to  see,  won't  you?  " 

"  Some  day,"  she  replied,  "  but  not  to-day.  Oh, 
how  scandalized  every  one  would  be  at  me!  "  and  she 
raised  her  slender  hands  in  dramatic  horror. 

"  Exquisite  hands,"  he  reflected.  "  She's  vain  of 
them,  but  she  has  a  right  to  be,"  and  the  smiling  look 
he  gave  her  conveyed  an  unspoken  compliment.  "  She 
really  is  beautiful,"  he  thought.  "Glorious  eyes! 
I'm  glad  I  came." 

Ronald  read  the  expression  on  Tom's  face,  and  see- 
ing the  animation  and  pleasure  on  hers,  thought,  "  The 
game  has  begun." 


XXII 

A  T  last  Catherine  was  at  Gold  Mine.  As  Modesta 
-*•  *•  talked  with  her,  interlarding  her  conversation 
with  many  references  to  Catherine's  former  friends  in 
the  city,  mentioning  them  as  her  own  intimates,  her 
sparkling  eyes  were  running  over  the  evening  gown  of 
her  guest.  Undoubtedly,  Modesta  was  pretty,  with 
her  lily  white  complexion  and  ash  blond  hair,  her  bril- 
liant eyes  like  aqua  marine,  and  deep  dimples  that 
never  rested ;  a  plebeian  prettiness  perhaps,  a  prettiness 
that  was  assisted  by  all  the  arts  —  but  an  undeniable 
prettiness  that  her  guest  was  forced  to  acknowledge  to 
herself.  And  Catherine  was  sufficiently  human  to  feel 
in  the  depths  of  her  soul  that  she  herself  was  not  look- 
ing her  best.  In  taking  the  gown  from  the  cedar  chest 
that  afternoon,  she  realized  its  unfitness  and  quailing 
at  the  thought  of  impending  humiliation,  had  been 
tempted  at  the  last  moment  to  refuse  to  come.  But, 
influenced  by  complex  motives,  she  went  without  pro- 
test. In  the  first  place,  she  had  a  curiosity  to  see 
Ronald  with  Modesta;  to  see  just  how  intimate  they 
were.  Then  she  thought  it  might  be  amusing  to  see 
those  people  in  their  own  home;  and  perhaps  there  was 
the  unacknowledged  triumph  of  showing  Modesta  that, 

206 


THE  GRINDING  207 

though  Ronald  might  be  burning  incense  at  her  shrine, 
there  was  some  one  else,  a  very  rich  man,  an  accom- 
plished man  of  the  world,  who  was  not  one  of  Modesta's 
friends. 

And  now  she  was  standing  in  the  glare  of  the  acety- 
lene gas  under  Modesta's  appraising  eyes.  Outwardly, 
she  gave  no  sign  of  her  inward  disturbance,  but  moved 
on  with  an  air  of  haughty  unconcern  after  presenting 
Mr.  Ogers,  and  listening  to  his  and  Ronald's  conversa- 
tion with  their  hostess. 

The  rooms  were  filled  with  masses  of  pink  roses 
withering  in  the  gas  light;  there  was  a  deafening  up- 
roar of  music  from  the  orchestra  secreted  under  the 
stairs;  there  was  an  inextricable  tangle  of  ladies  strug- 
gling about  among  the  plants  which  obtruded  them- 
selves in  every  possible  place,  brushing  the  low  ceil- 
ings and  seeming  to  bring  down  waves  of  heat  like  cob- 
webs. There  were  ladies  fat  and  ladies  lean,  ladies 
old  and  ladies  young,  all  shrieking  to  make  themselves 
heard;  and  like  derelicts  in  a  stormy  sea,  crimson-faced 
men  in  black  broadcloth,  mopping  their  steaming  coun- 
tenances and  trying  to  appear  happy. 

Catherine  glanced  back  at  the  receiving  ladies  stand- 
ing like  a  row  of  stuffed  birds,  and  wondered  how  long 
it  would  be  before  all  collapsed  in  a  faint.  A  group 
of  young  girls  in  the  dining-room  were  chattering, 
laughing,  and  nibbling  at  the  dainties.  At  one  side, 
loaded  with  silver,  stood  a  huge,  carved  sideboard. 

She  remembered  a  broken  chair  at  Esperance  that 
matched  it. 


208  THE  GRINDING 

"  We  shall  die  of  heat  prostration,"  Tom  exclaimed, 
threading  his  way  through  the  mass  of  dowagers  stand- 
ing plate  in  hand,  eating  pates  and  salads,  cakes  and 
ices.  Catherine  regarded  them  with  horror.  Such  hot 
weather,  and  eating  so  much!  He  drew  her  toward  an 
opening  into  what  proved  to  be  a  conservatory.  It 
had  been  robbed  of  the  greater  part  of  its  plants,  but 
there  were  still  enough  left  to  give  it  an  air  of  seclu- 
sion. The  lights  from  the  dining-room  mingling  with 
the  moonlight  accentuated  the  shadows  of  the  large- 
leaved  palms  and  formed  deep  grottoes  of  shade.  It 
was  the  first  time  she  had  been  in  a  conservatory  since 
she  lost  her  own,  and  a  wave  of  homesickness  swept 
over  her. 

"  There,"  he  said,  as  he  placed  a  bench  by  an  open 
window,  "  that's  a  little  better,  but  it's  suffocating  even 
here.  Why  do  you  suppose  they  elect  to  entertain  in 
such  weather?  " 

"  I  can't  imagine,"  she  replied.  "  It  must  have  been 
from  some  sense  of  duty.  No  one  could  consider  it  a 
pleasure."  She  smiled,  remembering  how  he  had  as- 
sured Modesta  of  his  great  joy  in  being  there. 

"  Why  are  you  smiling?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  was  thinking,"  she  said,  "  how  one  guest  after 
another  perjured  himself  to  the  hostess." 

"  Yes,"  he  replied,  "  but  wouldn't  it  be  awful  if  we 
spoke  the  truth?  Just  think  if  I  had  said,  '  Miss 
Piety,  this  is  worse  than  the  Black  Hole  of  Calcutta. 
Nothing  on  earth  could  have  induced  me  to  come  ex- 
cept — ' " 


THE  GRINDING  209 

"  Except  that  you  had  heard  how  pretty  and  charm- 
ing she  was  and  what  a  belle." 

"  No,  I'd  have  said,  if  I  were  speaking  the  truth,  you 
know  —  May  I  tell  you  what  I'd  have  said?  Why  I 
didn't  want  to  stay  at  Esperance  when  you  were  com- 
ing to  Gold  Mine?  "  He  looked  smilingly  at  her,  not- 
ing her  lovely  color,  and  there  was  a  subtle  flattery  in 
his  expression. 

She  looked  demurely  at  him.  "  I  heard  you  tell  her 
how  anxious  you  were  to  meet  her,"  she  said,  "  and  I 
always  believe  what  people  say.  But  I'm  sorry  for 
all  those  men  in  black  broadcloth.  They  are  going  to 
die  of  apoplexy.  The  mortality  will  be  something 
frightful." 

"  Which  one  shall  you  regret  most?  "  he  asked. 

"  Fergus  and  Ronald,"  she  replied. 

"  I'm  not  counting  them,"  he  said.  "  Who  comes 
next?  " 

"  Next!  "  she  ejaculated.  "  There  isn't  any  '  next.' 
You  don't  imagine  do  you,  that  I  know  the  people  out 
here?  That  I  make  companions  of  them?  " 

"  Oh,"  he  replied,  "  I  beg  your  pardon.  I  didn't 
realize  that  there  were  no  desirable  ones  at  all.  It 
must  be  very  lonely  for  you." 

"  Lonely!  "  she  repeated,  all  her  pent-up  discontent 
and  rebellion  audible  in  her  tone.  "  It  is  unutterable. 
Beyond  all  description."  The  change  from  her  usual 
tone  was  so  sudden  and  complete  that  he  scarcely 
knew  how  to  meet  it,  and  for  a  moment  was  silent. 

"  It  must  be  awful,"  he  said  after  a  brief  pause. 


210  THE  GRINDING 

"  I  didn't  realize  how  stranded  you  were."  His  tone 
was  exquisitely  soothing  and  sympathetic,  but  inwardly 
he  was  thinking:  "  So  that  is  the  role  assigned  to  me; 
to  rescue  this  Ariadne!  "  and  he  studied  her  with  an 
appraising  eye.  "  Not  so  bad,  either,"  he  thought.  "  I 
might  go  far  and  do  worse.  And  it's  time  I  settled 
down  and  had  a  permanent  establishment." 

Some  one  passed  through  the  conservatory  behind 
them,  where  the  palms  hid  them  from  view.  "  No, 
Marc,"  said  Modesta's  thin,  nasal  voice  (with  its 
habitual  accompanying  laugh),  "  I  don't  love  Ronald. 
I  like  him  and  I'm  sorry  for  him,  but  I  don't  love  him. 
And  I'd  die  before  I'd  marry  a  man  I  didn't  love." 

Tom  peeped  through  the  leaves  at  the  retreating 
figures.  "  Why,"  he  exclaimed,  "  isn't  that  Marc  Sut- 
ton,  whom  I  met  at  the  St.  Francis  club  the  other 
day?  " 

But  Catherine  did  not  hear  him.  With  flashing 
eyes  and  burning  cheeks  she  had  listened  to  Modesta's 
words.  "That  insufferable  girl!  "  she  exclaimed. 

Tom  turned  and  looked  at  her.  "  You  are  ac- 
quainted with  Sutton?  "  he  asked;  then,  not  waiting 
for  an  answer,  "  Oh,  of  course,  you  must  be." 

"  I  was  his  queen." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Tom,  "  I  remember  now.  A  friend 
of  mine  was  there  and  was  crazy  about  you.  Said 
he  never  saw  a  prettier  profile.  But  he  didn't  say  half 
enough,  I  see."  His  smile,  as  he  looked  at  her,  was  in 
itself  a  compliment.  "  It's  a  proof  of  Sutton's  dis- 
crimination, to  choose  you,"  he  added  after  a  pause; 


THE  GRINDING  211 

"  otherwise  I  shouldn't  have  supposed  he  had  any." 

"  Not  at  all,"  she  replied.  "  Rex  doesn't  choose  his 
queen.  The  organization — " 

The  entrance  of  Pere  Ignace  interrupted  her.  He 
saw  the  two  by  the  window  and  was  moving  discreetly 
away  when  Catherine  spoke:  "  Good  evening,  Pere 
Ignace,"  she  said.  "  Won't  you  join  us?  " 

"  Ah,  Mees  Catrine,"  he  replied,  coming  and  stand- 
ing beside  them.  "  You  have  found  a  spot  of  cool- 
ness? No?  " 

Tom,  rising  in  acknowledgment  of  his  introduction, 
stood  in  an  attitude  of  polite  boredom,  hoping  the 
priest  would  move  on,  and  a  trifle  tantalized  by  her 
caprice. 

"  We  mus'  apologize  for  the  'otness  of  the  weather," 
said  Pere  Ignace.  "  It  is  the  habit  of  our  climate  at 
this  season." 

"  Those  who  come  at  this  season  must  expect  the 
heat,"  Tom  observed.  "  And  there  are  compensations 
in  your  beautiful  country." 

Pere  Ignace  agreed.  "Yes,"  he  said,  "there  are 
many  compensation.  And  as  for  the  'otness,  it  is 
necessary  for  the  sugar  planter.  When  he  sleep  under 
blanket,  the  cane  do  not  grow." 

"  And  I  suppose  the  guests  here  to-night  are  nearly 
all  planters,"  Tom  remarked  with  a  nice  adjustment 
of  courtesy  and  weariness  which  Catherine  perceived. 

"  They  are,  with  one  exception;  Mr.  Sutton,  Mod- 
esta's  'ouse  guest." 

"  And  you  and  Mr.  Ogers,"  Catherine  reminded  him. 


212  THE  GRINDING 

"Ah,  yes,  I  forget;  but  we  have  take  the  precau- 
tion to  flee.  I  remembered  myself  of  Shadrac,  Mes- 
hac,  and  Abednego,  and  I  say  to  myself,  '  I  might  not 
'ave  their  luck.' '  He  refused  Catherine's  invitation 
to  sit  down,  explaining  that  he  was  in  search  of  the 
side  gallery,  "  Where,"  he  added,  "  I  am  assure '  by 
our  host  there  is  the  coolness  of  the  Nors  Pole." 

"  Then,"  she  declared,  rising,  "  we  will  go  with  you. 
We,  too,  seek  that  coolness." 

Tom  followed  in  silence.  He  was  too  experienced 
to  be  blind  to  the  coquetry  which  made  her  wish  not 
to  seem  unduly  eager  for  his  attentions.  Yet,  although 
he  acknowledged  to  himself  that  it  was  clever  of  her, 
he  was  sufficiently  piqued  to  wonder  whether  it  could 
be  she  really  was  indifferent  to  his  company.  It  was 
crude  of  her  to  fly  into  a  temper  and  show  her  jealousy 
before  a  stranger,  he  thought,  and  now  she's  going  to 
show  she  isn't  such  a  little  Miss  Innocence  after  all. 
He  wondered  how  old  she  was.  She  looked  about 
eighteen  —  but  must,  certainly,  be  older. 

The  side  gallery  proved  to  be  a  cooler  place  than 
the  conservatory  and,  seated  in  rocking  chairs  and 
fanned  by  a  soft  breeze,  they  were  able  to  listen  com- 
fortably to  the  distant  music  and  the  rhythmic  sound 
of  dancing  feet.  The  moon  shining  through  the  trees 
transformed  into  fairy  banners  the  long  festoons  of 
moss  where  myriads  of  fireflies  were  drifting  about  with 
their  golden  lanterns. 

"  It's  lovely  here,  isn't  it?  "  Catherine  said  to  Tom. 
"  Isn't  the  moss  picturesque?  " 


THE  GRINDING  213 

By  this  time  his  amiability  had  worn  to  a  thin 
edge  and  he  gave  his  whole  attention  to  the  cigarette 
he  was  lighting.  The  prospect  of  a  trio  for  the  whole 
evening  did  not  appeal  to  him,  and  he  pretended  not 
to  know  she  was  addressing  him  until  she  repeated 
her  observation.  Then,  tossing  away  the  match, 
he  glanced  disparagingly  about  him.  "  Forgive  me 
if  I  don't  fully  agree  with  you,"  he  replied. 
"  I  know  you  Southerners  particularly  pride  your- 
selves on  your  moss-draped  trees,  but,  to  my 
eyes,  they  look  unsanitary.  Like  rags  hung  out 
to  dry." 

"  Oh,  how  can  you  say  so!  "  she  exclaimed  with  in- 
ward amusement  at  his  ill-temper.  "  Look  at  those 
festoons  and  garlands." 

But  he  was  quite  as  perverse  and  coquettish  as  she, 
so  he  replied  that  he  was  sorry  not  to  share  her  enthu- 
siasm. "  It  seems  to  me  it  would  be  so  much  more 
attractive,"  he  said,  "  if  all  this  debris  were  cleared 
away  —  those  lower  branches  and  that  moss  —  and  if 
they  danced  on  the  lawn  instead  of  cooped  up  in  that 
furnace." 

"And  got  their  feet  wet  with  dew,  and  perhaps 
stepped  on  a  snake?  "  she  suggested  with  apparent 
innocence. 

"  A  dance,"  said  Pere  Ignace,  interrupting  the  argu- 
ment, "  is  nothing  for  me.  If  Modesta  had  give  a 
barbecue  —  but  a  barbecue  is  not  fashion." 

"That  would  require  a  fire,"  interjected  Tom. 
"  That  doesn't  appeal  to  me  at  all  in  this  weather," 


214  THE  GRINDING 

"  I  never  attended  a  barbecue,"  said  Catherine  de- 
murely, concealing  her  glee. 

"  Never  to  see  a  barbecue!  "  Pere  Ignace  said  dream- 
ily. "  You  'ave  miss  'alf  the  joy  of  life.  Or  a  feesh 
fry?  You  'ave  attend  a  feesh  fry,  hein?  " 

"  No,  strange  to  say,  I  never  have." 

"Oh,  mon  Dieu!  But  it  is  a  disadvantage  to  be 
of  the  city." 

"  You  are  very  fond  of  fish?  "  she  asked. 

"  By  good  fortune,  yes.  And  crahb  —  if  I  would 
permit  myself,  I  could  eat  crahb  like  Nore  Pinel." 

"  How  did  he  eat  crab?  " 

"  He  place  a  wash-pot  full  of  water  on  the  fire.  You 
h'observe,  it  is  full.  Your  attention  wander  a  little; 
when  you  behold  again,  it  is  empty.  Like  that,  I  could 
eat  crahb." 

"  Pere  Ignace,"  she  said,  leaning  toward  him,  "  I 
have  wondered  whether  there  really  ever  was  a  Nore 
Pinel.  I  keep  hearing  about  him:  how  he  planted, 
how  he  fished,  how  he  built  a  church,  and  now,  how 
he  cooked."  She  smiled  bewitchingly  as  she  spoke, 
and  Tom,  smoking  in  silence  and  studying  her  face  in 
the  moonlight  thought,  decidedly,  this  was  the  right 
girl  for  his  establishment.  Properly  dressed,  and  in 
the  setting  he  should  give  her,  she  would  do  him 
credit.  And  he'd  know  how  to  control  her,  he  thought, 
with  a  tightening  of  the  lips  and  a  hardening  of  all  the 
lines  in  his  face.  She'd  play  no  ill-tempered  pranks 
when  she  was  his  wife! 


THE  GRINDING  215 

"  I  think  Nore  Pinel  are  a  tradition,"  Pere  Ignace's 
voice  broke  in  upon  his  revery. 

"  Like  the  liggeroos?  "  Catherine  suggested. 

"Yes,  like  many  things  we  half  believe.  But  I 
have  many  ancient  record  of  this  parish.  If  ever  he 
exist,  I  can  find  heem.  Yes,  Mees  Catrine,  we  will 
hunt  out  that  Nore  Pinel." 

A  scream  of  laughter  from  the  dining-room  made 
the  three  turn  and  look.  A  black  haired  youth  was 
executing  some  sort  of  pas  seul  to  the  great  delight  of 
the  giggling  tea  girls  who  were  crowding  around. 
Through  the  wide  doorway  beyond,  a  swirl  of  dancers 
could  be  seen  sweeping  in  a  circle  like  a  merry-go- 
round  and,  most  agile  among  them,  Catherine  beheld 
Miss  Delicia.  Morgiana  in  her  palmiest  days  could 
never  have  approached  her  curveting  and  prancing. 
With  crimson  countenance  and  hair  done  in  peaks  like 
horns,  she  raged  around,  balancing  and  curtesying  in 
front  of  Tobias  Blaise,  who  with  pallid  face  and  glassy 
eyes  solemnly  pirouetted  through  his  part  of  the  figure. 
A  head  and  a  half  taller  than  her  partner,  she  hovered 
and  swooped  and  dived  around  him  like  a  bird  of  prey. 

Tom,  catching  sight  of  her  performance,  broke  into 
a  fit  of  laughter  heartier  than  any  since  his  school 
days.  "  It's  broad  farce,"  he  exclaimed,  wiping  his 
eyes  and  holding  his  aching  side. 

"  The  hotness  in  there  is  like  the  regions  infernal," 
Pere  Ignace  observed,  restraining  his  own  laughter  by 
a  great  effort. 


216  THE  GRINDING 

"  I  had  no  idea  I  should  see  anything  so  funny," 
Tom  said,  gasping  for  breath  and  breaking  out  into 
brief,  uncontrollable  shrieks.  "  Who  is  that  old  kan- 
geroo?  "  as  Miss  Delicia  again  came  leaping  past  their 
field  of  vision. 

"  She  is  my  seester,  M'sieur  O-gers,"  Pere  Ignace 
replied. 

A  figure  in  maid's  cap  and  apron  now  paused  before 
the  window.  The  moonlight  shining  full  upon  her  re- 
vealed her  expression  of  fathomless  weariness  and  sor- 
row. Where  had  Catherine  seen  her  before?  That 
wan,  ascetic  face  was  as  familiar  to  her  as  if  she  had 
known  it  all  her  life.  And  suddenly  her  impulse  to 
laugh  was  gone  in  the  presence  of  this  embodied  trag- 
edy. 

"  Who  is  that  girl,  Pere  Ignace?  "  she  asked. 

"  Felicie  Trosclair." 

"Felicie  Trosclair!"  she  repeated.  "Mr.  Ovide 
Trosclair's  daughter?  " 

"  His  niece." 

"  I  didn't  know  he  had  a  brother." 

Pere  Ignace  hesitated,  then  said  quietly,  "  He  never 
have  a  brother.  He  have  a  seester;  Mees  Hortense." 


XXIII 

HERE  was  open  exultation  in  the  conversation  of 
the  family  gathered,  the  following  morning, 
around  the  breakfast  table  at  Gold  Mine. 

"  I  could  have  died  laughin'  when  Miss  Maine  come 
in,"  said  Mrs.  Blaise.  "  Where  do  you  reckon  she 
ever  got  that  rig?  " 

Modesta,  exquisitely  white  and  dainty  in  her  elab- 
orate negligee,  looked  uneasy.  She  was  always  uneasy 
when  her  parents  were  at  ease.  Like  many  another 
father  and  mother  who  had  had  no  advantages  them- 
selves, they  had  given  their  only  child  all  in  their 
power  of  luxury  and  accomplishments,  and  were  reap- 
ing the  usual  harvest  of  ingratitude.  So,  when  her 
mother  sneeringly  commented  on  Catherine's  appear- 
ance, Modesta,  wishing  to  show  her  familiarity  with 
such  matters,  answered  with  calm  superiority,  "  She 
must  have  bought  it  when  she  was  in  Paris.  That  was 
a  Drecoll,  or  Paquin  gown." 

"  She  come  out  of  curiosity,"  Mrs.  Blaise  asserted. 
"  She  ain't  set  foot  inside  this  house  till  now." 

Mr.  Blaise,  sallow-faced,  with  the  features  of  a 
razor-back  hog,  laughed  a  snarling  laugh  and  glanced 
about  the  room  with  his  pale,  furtive  eyes.  "  I  reckon 
she  was  satisfied  all  right,"  he  said.  "  I  guess  she 

217 


218  THE  GRINDING 

ain't  been  to  many  parties  where  they  spent  more  for 
grub  and  music.  They  won't  come  to  a  cent  less  than 
a  thousand  dollars  —  and  I  reckon  even  the  Maines 
would  call  that  some  party." 

"  Don't  call  it  a  '  party/  Dad,"  Modesta  remon- 
strated. "  It  was  a  reception." 

"  Well,  I  guess  them  was  party  dresses  you  and 
your  maw  wore  last  night,"  he  chuckled,  "  and  them's 
party  bills  I'll  be  getting  next  month." 

"  Yes,  that  dress  was  a  two-year-old,"  Mrs.  Blaise 
ruminated,  following  out  her  train  of  thought. 

"  I  guess  so,"  chuckled  Mr.  Blaise,  "  and  she  ain't 
goin'  to  have  many  more,  or  I  miss  my  guess.  I've  got 
them  Maines  right  where  I  want  them.  So  stuck  up 
they  were  too  grand  to  walk  on  this  earth.  Huhn! 
She  couldn't  come  here  till  we  give  a  party." 

"  Oh,  Dad!  "  Modesta  interrupted,  not  wishing  Marc 
to  think  they  had  been  slighted,  "  she  has  tried  to  be 
cordial,  but  you  know  she  hasn't  any  way  of  getting 
around." 

"Sure!  "  chimed  in  Mrs.  Blaise,  warned  by  her 
daughter's  expression,  "  she  said  —  no,  it  was  him  — 
I  mean  Mr.  Fergus  Maine.  What  was  it  he  said, 
Destie?  " 

"  He  said  she  had  become  a  recluse,"  Modesta  ex- 
plained. 

"  But  she  was  just  as  cordial  to  Destie  and  I,"  Mrs. 
Blaise  began. 

"  Yes,  she's  a  '  recluse  '  all  right,"  Mr.  Blaise  inter- 
rupted sneeringly.  "  And  him,  too;  he's  another. 


THE  GRINDING  219 

When  he  was  president  of  the  St.  Francis  Club,  he 
wanted  to  be  a '  recluse  '  too.  When  my  name  come  up 
for  membership,  he  said  he  didn't  want '  mere  money  ' 
in  the  club.  Huhn!  He  thought  it  ought  to  preserve 
*  higher  standards.'  Education  was  what  they  wanted 
and  social  position.  Huhn!  Education  don't  teach  a 
man  business  sense,  it  seems.  It  don't  teach  him  to 
hold  on  to  his  money,  ner  it  don't  teach  him  to  make 
the  crop.  And  it's  just  as  sure  as  that,"  (taking  a 
rose  from  the  center  of  the  table  and  crushing  it  with 
frightful  vindictiveness),  "he's  gone  up  unless  he  can 
get  some  one  to  advance  to  him.  And,"  he  added  with 
a  snarling  laugh,  "  he'll  find  out  if  I  ain't  good  enough 
for  the  St.  Francis  Club,  I  ain't  good  enough  to  help 
him.  You'll  see!  He'll  be  crawlin'  round  my  feet  the 
first  of  next  January  —  and  you  know  what  I'll  say? 
I'll  say  that!  "  and  he  spat  upon  the  floor  with  a  pois- 
onous malice  horrible  to  behold. 

Rage  is  a  terrifying  thing,  and  Marc  was  frightened. 
Like  most  secretive  natures,  he  could  not  acknowledge 
a  fault  unless  absolutely  forced  to  do  so.  He  remem- 
bered the  meeting  at  which  Boggs,  an  obscure  member, 
presented  Blaise's  name.  Fergus  Maine  was  absent 
and  he,  Marc  Sutton,  the  Vice-President,  occupied  the 
chair.  It  was  a  merry  meeting  at  which  Boggs  was 
silenced  and  put  to  shame  while  the  members  indulged 
themselves  in  witticisms  concerning  the  unknown 
Blaise.  There  was  disorder,  a  thing  that  never  oc- 
curred when  Fergus  was  presiding.  Ever  since  his  in- 
troduction at  Gold  Mine,  Marc  had  lived  in  fear  of 


220  THE  GRINDING 

hearing  that  meeting  mentioned,  and  now  he  expe- 
rienced a  great  relief  at  discovering  that  Boggs  had 
never  told  all  the  circumstances,  and  that  Fergus  re- 
ceived the  blame. 

"  He  called  me  a  '  money-lender,' "  said  Tobias, 
(Marc  remembered  that  some  one  had  applied  that  op- 
probrious epithet  to  him).  "  But  he'll  find  out  I  ain't 
so  fierce  on  money-lendin'  as  he  hopes.  Huhn!  " 

"  Isn't  Mr.  Ogers  very  wealthy?  "  Modesta  asked. 
"  He'll  lend  them  the  money,  if  — " 

"  Yes,  '  if,'  "  her  father  interrupted.  "  But  it's  just 
that  little  '  if '  that's  goin'  to  upset  their  bucket  of 
cuite.  She  ain't  the  first  pretty  girl  what's  set  her  cap 
for  him,  or  I  miss  my  guess  —  an'  she  ain't  goin'  to 
land  him,  neither,"  he  prophesied. 

At  Esperance,  the  day  dragged  wearily  to  its  end. 
Tom,  it  transpired,  was  in  the  habit  of  sleeping  until 
noon,  when  his  man,  Alphonse,  tiptoed  into  the  room 
and  awoke  him.  Then  there  was  the  carrying  of  in- 
numerable buckets  of  hot  water  for  his  bath  —  a  great 
hardship  to  Alphonse,  who  complained  bitterly  of  the 
distance  from  the  out-door  kitchen.  Then  there  were 
the  difficulties  of  breakfast  which  must  be  prepared 
under  Alphonse's  own  eye.  Then  there  was  a  dispute 
to  be  settled  between  Alphonse  who  threatened  to  leave 
his  master's  service  if  "  the  niggers  "  were  not  forced  to 
be  more  respectful  to  him,  and  Marcelline  who  per- 
sisted in  repeating  that  he  "  Wa'n't  nothin'  but  a  ser- 
vant hisself ;  an'  he  neenter  put  on  no  quality  airs.  " 
Then,  when  Tom  finally  emerged  like  Phoebus  Apollo, 


THE  GRINDING  221 

perfumed,  manicured,  resplendent  in  his  white  suit,  he 
was  so  obviously  bored  for  lack  of  something  to  do 
that  Catherine  devoted  herself  to  the  task  of  amusing 
a  blase  man,  who  perhaps  already  regretted  that  he 
was  stranded  in  the  country.  In  his  mood,  she  saw  a 
dim  reflection  of  what  she  herself  had  been  and,  armed 
with  the  knowledge,  she  set  about  entertaining  him. 
It  was  not  strange  that  a  rich  man,  accustomed  to  the 
flatteries  of  sycophants,  should  have  misunderstood 
her  motives.  Furthermore,  in  the  depths  of  his  com- 
mercial heart,  he  believed  that  everything  was  to  be 
had  for  money,  and  he  only  hoped  she  would  not  de- 
prive him  of  the  zest  of  pursuit  by  pursuing  him. 

It  was  evening  before  Catherine  was  able  to  have 
the  interview  with  Marcelline  she  desired.  But  now, 
in  the  great  shadowy  kitchen,  lighted  only  by  a  candle 
in  a  tin  candlestick  hung  on  the  wall,  she  sank  wearily 
down  on  a  wooden  stool,  saying  "  What  can  we  have 
tomorrow?  I  can't  think  of  anything  more,  I'm  so 
tired.  Plan  some  Creole  dishes:  sagamitU  and  gril- 
lards,  and  jambalaya  and  corn  pone  with  strop  de  bat- 
terie.  Something  he's  not  accustomed  to,  and  that  will 
seem  new  and  interesting  to  him." 

In  the  dim  candle  light  her  face  showed  like  a  cameo 
against  the  cavernous  background  of  shade.  The  old 
woman  noted  its  pallor  and  said  gently,  "  You  is  learn' 
a  heap,  sence  you  come  to  the  kentry.  You  didn't  so 
much  ez  know  the  names  er  them  things  when  you 
corned,  but  M'sieur  Alphonse  say  his  boss  want  brilers 
fer  his  breakfus '.  He  seen  them  Rhode  Red  Islan's, 


222  THE  GRINDING 

an'  he  tole  his  boss,  an'  he  say  his  boss  ain't  custome' 
to  no  po'k-an'-cabbage  mess  like  we  gun  him  yestiddy, 
an'  neither  he  ain't,  neither.  He  have  always  reside, 
he  say,  with  quality.  An'  I  tole  him  he  couldn'  find  no 
higher  quality  than  he  have  right  here  to  Esperance, 
but  he  wa'n't  a-residin'  with  them,  neither.  He  was 
jes'  plain  servant  like  we-alls.  An'  I  tole  him  he  mout 
be  white  er  he  mout  be  blue,  but  he  out-niggered  the 
blackes'  cane  fiel'  hand  on  the  bayou.  An'  he  say  his 
boss  are  richer  an'  han'somer  than  Mr.  Fergus  or 
either  Mr.  Ronal';  an'  I  say,  'Him,  han'some!  with 
his  figger  lumpin'  out  to  every  pint  er  the  compass  ' — 
an'  just  then  you  corned  in." 

"  Marcelline,"  said  Catherine,  "  you  must  be  patient 
and  polite  to  company,  don't  you  know?  Now  tell 
me  something;  who  is  Felicie  Trosclair?  Tell  me 
about  her." 

"  Ain't  you  never  hear  tell  about  her?  "  Marcelline 
asked  in  such  surprise  that  she  forgot  her  grievances 
against  Alphonse. 

"No;  tell  me." 

"  Hit  war  this-away,"  Marcelline  began  solemnly. 
In  the  dim  light  of  the  candle,  the  tall  form  with  its 
white  apron  and  gay  head  handkerchief  took  on  some- 
thing wildly  picturesque.  She  seemed  like  a  sibyl  as 
she  began  in  her  deep,  mellow  voice:  "  She  war  born 
onlucky,  an'  her  maw  war  onlucky  before  her.  Miss 
Hortense'  paw  die  before  she  war  born,  an'  fum  the 
fust  minute  she  see  the  light  er  day,  she  war  a  hard- 
times,  bad-luck  baby.  But  purty!  Miss  Catrine, 


THE  GRINDING  223 

she  war  as  purty  as  what  you  is.  An'  when  she  went 
to  them  furrin'  parts,  she  favored  them  angels  what  the 
hymn-chunes  tells  about.  Then,  Miss  Catrine,  when 
she  come  a-strayin'  back  with  a  baby  in  her  arms,  an' 
her  eyes  so  wild  an'  pitiful,  she  wa'n't  purty  no  more, 
Miss  Catrine;  she  jes'  favor'  some  poor  little  animule 
what  war  half  beat  to  death.  She  war  so  solemn,  with 
her  great,  big  eyes  —  an'  her  poor  little  baby  had  that 
same  look,  like  she've  see  sech  awful  trouble  she 
couldn't  smile  no  more.  An'  quiet?  An'  easy?  An' 
scared?  She  war  jest  as  still  as  a  poor  little  bird 
what's  ben  caught  in  a  trap  an'  don't  dast  to  move. 
Mr.  Ovide'  wife  rare  an'  charge  an'  say  she  cain't  live 
with  no  sech  truck.  Mr.  Ovide  say  he  don't  keer;  he 
wa'n't  goin'  to  turn  them  out  like  two  stray  dogs.  But 
he  war  out  in  the  fiel's  most  er  the  time,  an'  they  listen 
to  a  heap  of  hard  words,  them  two,  'case  the  young 
Madam  warn't  quality,  an'  this  give  her  a  chanst  to 
hole  her  haid  high." 

"  Why  did  Mr.  Ovide  let  his  niece  go  to  work  at 
Gold  Mine?  "  Catherine  asked. 

"Who?  Miss  Hortense'  li'le  gal?  Wukkin'? 
What  dat  you  say?  Is  you  sure?  She  mout  lend  a 
hand  —  but  not  wukkin'  like  a  servant,  were  she?  " 

"  She  had  on  a  maid's  cap  and  apron." 

"  Oh,"  Marcelline  groaned,  leaning  against  the  table 
as  if  unable  to  support  her  own  weight,  "  pore  li'le 
Missy!  The  Trosclairs  was  the  proudes'  people  on 
the  top  side  er  the  yearth,  time  er  the  ole  Madame; 
an'  Miss  Hortense  were  the  very  apple  of  her  heart. 


224  THE  GRINDING 

Miss  Aggie  Blaise'  paw  were  stableman  to  Malabar 
an'  she  growed  up  in  the  quarters  —  an'  now  Miss 
Hortense'  li'le  gal  are  a-wukkin  fer  them  folks!  Is  you 
sure,  honey?  " 

"  I'm  sure,"  said  Catherine.    "  I  saw  her." 
"  Oh,  Lord!  Lord!  "  Marcelline  exclaimed  in  a  kind 
of  wailing  chant,  the  while  she  rocked  her  body  from 
side  to  side,  "  times  is  sure  change'  when  Malabar  wuk 
fer  Gole  Mine." 


XXIV 

T17HEN  Tom  arrived,  it  was  with  the  intention  of 
*  *  staying  two  or  three  days  at  longest;  but  a  week 
passed  by  and  still  he  lingered,  although  his  valet, 
unable  to  endure  the  discomforts  of  the  country,  had 
left  within  forty-eight  hours.  Tom  had  definitely 
made  up  his  mind  to  marry  Catherine,  but,  to  his  sur- 
prise, he  found  her  more  elusive  than  he  could  have 
imagined.  All  gentleness  and  grace  one  moment,  the 
next,  she  was  as  aloof  as  a  wild  creature  of  the  woods. 
Constantly  baffled  by  her  changing  moods,  his  visit 
which,  for  a  moment,  seemed  to  threaten  him  with 
ennui,  had  taken  on  the  excitement  of  the  chase.  He 
thought  out  a  plan  of  action:  he  would  give  her  humor 
for  humor  and  show  that  he  could  be  quite  as  perverse 
and  capricious  as  she. 

Catherine,  for  her  part,  realized  the  hazardous  game 
she  was  playing,  but  having  as  fully  made  up  her  mind 
as  he  had  his,  she  skirted  as  near  the  precipice  as  she 
dared.  She  knew  she  must  not  go  too  near  —  too  much 
depended  on  his  good-will  —  but  neither  could  she 
deny  herself  the  pleasure  of  tantalizing  this  man  of 
the  world  who  was  so  sure  of  himself.  And  so  she 
danced  ahead  like  a  will-o'-the  wisp,  always  just  be- 
yond his  reach. 

Fergus  and  Ronald,  walking  along  the  dusty  road 

225 


226  THE  GRINDING 

toward  the  sugar  house  one  day,  were  discussing  the 
situation:  "He's  been  here  an  entire  week,"  Ronald 
said.  "  Now  that  he's  decided  to  take  the  pound  of 
flesh  and  advance  barely  enough  money  to  make  the 
crop,  I  wish  he'd  go!  He  was  so  eager  to  get  hold  of 
those  mortgage  notes,  his  mouth  watered.  Didn't  you 
notice?  He  didn't  seem  like  that  at  Worcester." 

"  No,  because  you  were  on  an  equality  then.  It's 
the  difference  between  poverty  and  wealth.  The  rich 
don't  realize  their  selfishness,  Ronald.  It's  a  very  ex- 
ceptional nature  that  can  put  itself  in  the  place  of  the 
other  man.  They  have  no  experience  to  guide  them. 
They  don't  walk  when  they're  tired  —  " 

"  Or  eat  dry  salt  shoulder,"  Ronald  interjected. 
"Did  you  notice  the  charming  grace  with  which  he 
helped  himself  to  all  the  white  meat  of  the  chicken, 
and  left  the  neck  and  gizzard  for  us?  " 

Fergus  took  out  his  handkerchief  and  flicked  the 
dust  from  his  shoes.  Always  a  fastidious  man,  he  had 
grown  painfully  conscious  of  his  appearance;  of  his 
ill-cut  hair,  his  shiny  coat,  and  his  linen  that  was  be- 
ginning to  fray  at  the  edges. 

Ronald  watched  him  dusting  his  shabby,  carefully 
polished  shoes.  "  If  there  were  anything  spectacular 
about  poverty,"  he  said,  "  it  wouldn't  be  so  hard  to 
bear.  There  is  dignity  in  suffering  for  one's  country 
or  one's  faith;  but  to  be  merely  poor  and  shabby, 
trudging  around  in  the  mud  and  dust,  eating  coarse 
food  and  drinking  water  without  ice  in  it  —  there's 
nothing  ennobling  about  that." 


THE  GRINDING  227 

"  I  don't  agree  with  you,"  Fergus  replied,  straight- 
ening himself  and  replacing  his  handkerchief  in  his 
pocket,  "  I  believe  there  is  something  ennobling  in 
enduring  the  hardships  of  the  march.  We  have  an 
example  before  our  eyes  of  how  enervating  constant 
self-indulgence  is,  both  to  body  and  mind." 

"  Poverty  is  so  degrading,"  Ronald  persisted.  "  You 
coarsen  with  your  coarse  surroundings;  or  at  least  you 
seem  to  coarsen.  And  very  soon  men  like  Tom  Ogers 
accept  the  situation  for  you  and  begin  advising  you 
and  telling  you  how  the  refined,  cultured,  rich  peo- 
ple of  the  world  behave.  I  don't  mind  so  much  for 
myself,  but  it  is  dreadful  to  see  you  and  Catherine  in 
so  degrading  a  position." 

"  Humiliating,  you  mean,  not  '  degrading,'  "  Fergus 
corrected.  "  No  outside  circumstance  can  degrade 
us  in  the  true  sense  of  the  word,  any  more  than  a  poor 
garment  can  impoverish  the  soul.  People  don't  mean 
to  humiliate  the  poor  —  they  simply  don't  understand 
them.  I  can  see  how  blind  I  myself  was.  In  that 
phrase,  '  The  poor  ye  have  always  with  you,'  I  thought 
of  poverty  vaguely  as  a  sad  dispensation,  indirectly 
meant  as  a  benefit  for  the  rich  in  calling  out  their  finer 
qualities.  Now  that  I  am  one  of  the  ever-present 
poor,  I  think  I  have  a  clearer  understanding." 

"  Well,"  Ronald  observed  after  a  pause,  "  it's  time 
for  Tom  to  go  home  to  his  much-lamented  valet,  and 
shower  bath,  and  pdte-de-foie-gras." 

"You  know  why  he  doesn't  go,"  Fergus  said  quietly. 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  Ronald  acknowledged  with  a  slight 


228  THE  GRINDING 

laugh,  "  and  it  didn't  require  a  prophet  to  foresee  what 
would  happen  when  he  came.  But  what  a  dance  she's 
leading  him!  And  in  such  hot  weather.  I  don't 
blame  him  for  looking  tragic.  I  suppose  he  would 
say  with  Sisyphus :  '  Mine  at  worst  is  everlasting 
hope.' " 

Fergus  was  silent  for  a  moment.  "  I  have  thought," 
he  finally  said,  "  that  perhaps  it  is  our  duty  to  open 
her  eyes  to  some  of  his  characteristics." 

"  My  dear  Fergus,"  Ronald  ejaculated.  "  Cather- 
ine's eyes  are  the  clearest  and  widest-open  in  the  world. 
She  sees  him  as  he  is.  Depend  upon  it.  Besides, 
I  doubt  if  advice  from  us  would  have  any  effect  other 
than  to  hasten  the  marriage.  You  don't  imagine  she 
would  listen  to  me,  do  you?  " 

"  Perhaps  not,"  Fergus  acknowledged  with  a  sigh. 
"  You  irritate  each  other  a  little,  don't  you?  " 

"  No,  not  '  a  little,'  but  very  much  indeed,"  Ronald 
replied.  "  She  misunderstands  everything  I  say  or 
do  —  and  perhaps  I  misunderstand  her." 

"  You  used  to  love  each  other  so  dearly,"  Fergus 
said  sadly. 

Ronald  flushed  and  looked  away.  "I'm  not  at  all 
sure  she  ever  loved  me,"  he  replied.  Then,  after  a 
pause,  "  You  remember  that  verse  in  Fridthiof's  Saga: 
'  Trust  not  to  one  night's  ice,  To  spring  day  snow,  To 
serpent's  slumber,  Or  to  maiden's  vow;  For  heart  of 
woman  turneth  like  a  wheel,  And  'neath  the  snowy 
breast  doth  falsehood  dwell.' ' 

"  Fridthiof   was   harsh,"    Fergus   commented.    "  I 


THE  GRINDING  229 

don't  like  to  think  such  things  of  our  little  Catherine. 
The  privations  we  suffer  make  us  nervous,  I  suppose. 
And  she's  young  and  without  resources.  No  wonder 
if  she  longs  to  escape." 

In  the  garden  of  Esperance,  Ananias  and  Pidgeon 
were  hoeing  grass  and,  seeing  Tom  and  Catherine  walk- 
ing along  the  bayou's  bank  toward  the  bridge,  they 
paused  in  their  work  and  watched  them. 

"  He  shore  look  fine  in  them  white  clo'es,"  Pidgeon 
observed. 

"  Chukey  gwine  quit,  lessen  the  Madam  get  some- 
one to  help  with  the  pressin,'  "  said  Ananias.  "  She 
say  she  cain't  press  all  them  things  by  herself." 

"  He  shore  have  got  a  plenty,"  Pidgeon  agreed. 
"  An'  he  make  me  count  his  hankercher,  an'  his  collar, 
an'  his  sock,  an'  he  holler  at  me  effen  I  makes  a  mis- 
take. I  wisht  to  goodness  the  Madam  didn't  make  me 
wait  on  him  when  Mr.  Alphonse  quit.  Mr.  Nias," 
Pidgeon  leaned  on  his  hoe  and  spoke  impressively,  "  he 
are  that  stingy,  he  regrudge  everybody  else  the  air 
they  breathes.  Sence  the  revelation  er  Jonah,  they 
ain't  nuver  ben  nobody  so  stingy  like  what  he  are.  He 
ain't  nuver  give  me  nothin'  ceppin  yestiddy.  He  tore 
the  buttinghole  er  his  collar  when  he  war  a  buttenin'  it, 
an'  he  say,  '  Here,  Stoopid,  effen  you  was  wuth  you 
salt,  you'd  a-knewn  how  to  butting  it  for  me,'  and  with 
that,  he  fling  it  at  me  an'  he  say,  '  You  kin  have  it.' 
An'  when  he  seen  me  a-lookin'  at  it,  he  get  mad  an'  tell 
me  not  to  look  a  gifted  horse  in  the  mouth.  An'  he 
say  niggers  is  ongrateful  anyway  you  fixes  'em,  an' 


230  THE  GRINDING 

they'd  ruther  steal  than  have  things  gave  'em.  Mr. 
Nias,  I  nigh  about  bust,  I  was  that  mad.  An'  you 
know  how  big  his  neck  are?  That  ole  collar  would  a 
made  a  belt  fur  Miss  Marcelline." 

"  An'  you  nuver  sass  him?  "  Ananias  inquired  with 
deep  interest. 

"  Yassir,  I  did.  Jest  once.  An'  I  trust  to  the  Lord 
he  don't  tell  our  Madam,  but  Moses  neither  Job 
couldn't  a  had  patience  with  him.  You  knows,  Mr. 
Nias,  the  Madam  say  as  how  I  warn't  to  wake  him 
twell  the  kitchen  clock  alarm?  Well,  I  waits  twell 
she  alarms.  Then  I  goes,  soft  an'  easy,  to  wake  him. 
You  know  that  there  bedroom  door  squawk  when  you 
opens  it?  " 

"  Yes.  I  promus  the  Madam  to  grease  the  hinges, 
but  I  forgot." 

"  Well,  he  were  sleepin'  so  proud  I  hears  him  clean 
out  to  the  kitchen  but  any  how  I  goes,  like  the  Madam 
tell  me;  an'  when  I  opens  that  door,  she  squawk  like 
she  always  do.  I  didn't  go  to  do  it,  Mr.  Nias,  but  the 
slower  you  opens  that  door,  the  louder  she  squawk,  an' 
he  mos'  jump  outer  his  skin,  he  wake  so  suddint.  An' 
with  that,  he  holler  at  me, '  What  you  sneakin'  in  that- 
a-way  fur?  I  ben  awake  a  hour  waitin'  fur  you.' 
But  you  know  that  were  a  hardened  lie,  Mr.  Nias, 
'case  I  hearn  him  a-sleepin'.  An'  he  say, '  You  is  fixin 
to  steal  suthin  whiles  I  sleeps,  but  you  doesn't  catch 
me  so  easy.'  An'  with  that,  I  ups  an'  tells  him  I  didn't 
want  none  er  them  big  balloon  clo'es  er  hisn,  an'  be- 
sides, I  axes  my  own  boss  fer  what  I  wants,  an'  no- 


THE  GRINDING  231 

body  else;  an'  when  I  axes  my  boss,  he  don't  show  me 
the  back  er  his  hand,  neither." 

"  Pidgeon,"  said  Ananias  impressively,  "  we  is  some- 
times under  compellerations  to  wuk  fer  street  angels 
and  house  devils.  I  seen  him  a-squinchin'  up  them 
little  yaller  eyes  er  hisn,  a-grinnin'  at  Miss  Catrine,  an' 
I  says  to  myself,  '  I  trus'  the  Lord  don't  let  her  marry 
him,  'case  you  kin  marry  ez  rich  ez  cream  an'  yet  be  to 
the  last  er  misery.' ' 

"An'  he  talk  so  mild  an'  soft  an'  easy  to  her," 
Pidgeon  continued,  "  an'  behine  her  back,  he  kin  out- 
cuss  Cain  and  Abel.  Did  you  hear  him  the  day  Miss 
Chukey  were  a-wool-gatherin'  an'  crease  his  pants  down 
the  side,  instead  er  in  front?  " 

"  I  suttinly  did,"  Ananias  replied.  "  He  war  mad- 
dog  mad  at  her,  an'  he  say, l  How  you  reckon  I  is  gwine 
ter  look  effen  I  puts  on  them  things?  "  I  layed  off  to 
tell  him  how  he  look  to  me,  but  then  I  study  how  our 
Madam  say  she  pintedly  forbid  her  servants  to  sass 
him."  He  sighed,  spat  upon  his  hands  and  resumed 
his  hoeing. 

Meantime  the  object  of  these  criticisms  was  not  so 
happy  as  his  observers  imagined.  Having  risen  that 
day  with  the  determination  to  have  a  final,  explicit 
talk  with  Catherine,  in  which  he  would  give  her  plainly 
to  understand  that  she  was  endangering  her  chances 
with  him,  he  learned  to  his  annoyance,  that  she  had 
gone  driving  early  that  morning  and  would  not  return 
until  dinner.  There  was  nothing  to  do  but  wait,  and 
while  he  did  so,  he  reviewed  his  discomforts  of  the  past 


232  THE  GRINDING 

week.  Calling  to  Marcelline,  he  demanded  if  there 
were  no  books  in  the  house  for  him  to  read  while  he 
had  nothing  else  to  do. 

She  answered  politely  but  with  suppressed  hostility 
that  there  was  a  Bible  in  Mr.  Fergus's  room,  but  she 
didn't  suppose  he  would  care  to  read  that. 

"  Holy  smoke!  "  he  ejaculated.  "  Is  that  the  most 
recent  literature  this  place  affords?  " 

"  There  are  the  Epee  from  Bergerac." 

"The  A  pay!     What's  that?" 

"  The  paper  from  Bergerac." 

"Well,  bring  that."  But  the  meager  news  did  not 
entertain  him  many  minutes,  and  he  went  out  on  to 
the  gallery  where  he  walked  back  and  forth,  fanning 
himself  and  impatiently  watching  for  Catherine's  re- 
turn. What  was  his  surprise  to  find  her  in  the  dining 
room  when  dinner  was  announced,  looking  cool  and 
crisp  in  her  white  dress  and  much  astonished  to  learn 
where  he  had  been  waiting  for  her. 

"  Why,"  she  exclaimed  sympathetically,  "  it  was 
sunny  there.  If  you'd  gone  on  to  the  shady  side  gal- 
lery you'd  have  seen  me  when  I  came  through  the  cane 
field.  It's  lovely  there.  As  you  look  across  the  top 
of  the  cane  it  seems  all  rippling  like  little  waves. 
Later,  when  it's  tall,  it  seems  like  a  solid  wall  of  green." 

After  dinner,  she  went  to  the  kitchen  to  give  some 
order  to  Marcelline,  and  he  next  discovered  her  walk- 
ing on  the  bayou  bank.  When  she  heard  him  panting 
after  her,  she  turned  with  the  most  innocent,  sympa- 


THE  GRINDING  233 

thetic  expression  and  said,  "  Oh,  how  out  of  breath  you 
are!  " 

It  was  disagreeable  to  think  of  the  spectacle  he  pre- 
sented with  the  perspiration  streaming  down  his  crim- 
son face,  and  in  spite  of  himself,  his  voice  took  on  a 
sharp  edge  as  he  demanded,  "  Why  didn't  you  tell  me 
you  were  going  right  out  again?  "  Then,  without 
waiting  for  an  answer,  "And  what  was  the  need  of 
your  taking  that  drive  alone  this  morning?  You  know 
I'd  have  gone  with  you." 

"  Oh,  would  you?  "  She  seemed  surprised.  "  I 
didn't  go  alone.  Miss  Victorine  was  with  me;  but  I'm 
sorry  we  didn't  take  you  if  you'd  have  enjoyed  it." 

He  ignored  the  implication  that  he  would  have  en- 
joyed going  with  Miss  Victorine  as  an  addition  to  the 
company,  and  asked,  "  Where  did  you  go?  " 

"  To  get  some  fresh  vegetables.  I  heard  that 
Madame  Jabart  had  some  lovely  mirlitons.  I  was  sure 
you  would  like  them."  ' 

"  Why  didn't  you  have  some  one  wake  me?  You 
might  at  least  have  given  me  the  chance  to  say  whether 
I  wished  to  go  or  not." 

"  I  did  think  of  it,"  she  acknowledged,  noting  with 
inward  amusement  the  aggrieved  and  accusing  tone  of 
his  voice.  "  I  had  Pidgeon  listen  at  your  door,  but 
when  he  told  me  how  soundly  you  were  sleeping,  I 
wouldn't  let  him  disturb  you  for  anything." 

His  flushed  face  grew  a  deeper  mahogany  color. 
It  was  not  pleasant  to  think  of  Pidgeon's  reporting 


234  THE  GRINDING 

that  he  was  snoring  his  head  off.  "  Well,"  he  per- 
sisted fretfully,  "  what  was  the  need  of  your  starting 
right  out  again  now?  Couldn't  you  stay  a  little  while 
with  me?  " 

"  I  am  with  you,  am  I  not?  "  she  asked  with  tantal- 
izing sweetness.  She,  too,  was  suffering  from  the  hot 
weather  and  the  mosquitos,  and  her  most  ardent  wish 
at  that  moment  was  that  he  would  go  home.  His 
business  with  Fergus  having  been  completed  to  her 
satisfaction,  she  was  ready  to  speed  the  parting  guest. 

Looking  moodily  away  from  her  he  caught  sight  of 
Fergus  and  Ronald  walking  toward  the  sugar  house. 
At  that  moment,  Fergus  made  a  gesture  of  the  hand 
habitual  with  him  when  talking  earnestly,  and  Tom 
laughed.  "  He's  giving  Ronald  some  good  advice," 
he  said.  "  For  a  man  that  has  lived  in  the  world,  he's 
a  good  deal  of  a  city  missionary,  isn't  he?  " 

The  brilliancy  of  her  inquiring  glance  should  have 
warned  him,  but  the  possibility  of  her  refusing  him 
had  not  entered  the  range  of  his  imagination,  and  he 
went  on  unguardedly.  "  You  and  Ronald  do  take  a 
lot  of  preaching.  I  don't  see  why  you  stand  it." 

"  Stand  it!  "  she  repeated;  "  if  it  weren't  for  Fergus, 
I'd  simply  die  of  loneliness  out  here.  He's  my  only 
comfort.  He's  an  angel,  Fergus  is." 

"  I  dare  say,"  Tom  replied  in  a  slighting  tone,  "  but 
I  suppose  I  haven't  met  enough  angels  to  acquire  a 
taste  for  their  company.  They  seem  to  me  rather  in- 
sipid, socially." 

"  Of  course,"  she  agreed  with  ominous  quiet,  "  I 


THE  GRINDING  235 

shouldn't  expect  you  to  understand  a  man  like  Fer- 
gus." 

He  gave  a  short  laugh.  "  Oh,  there's  nothing  very 
complex  about  a  nature  like  his,"  he  retorted,  losing 
control  of  his  temper  and  prudence.  "  He's  in  just  the 
right  environment  here  where  he'll  not  be  tempted  to 
try  to  manipulate  the  Stock  Market.  It  takes  some- 
thing more  than  mere  angelic  goodness  to  pull  off 
such  a  sketch  as  he  tried  with  the  Metropolitan  Bank." 

Her  eyes  blazed,  but  she  made  no  reply. 

"  And  as  for  Ronald,"  he  went  on,  "  I  suppose  you 
think  he's  another  angel,  and  perhaps  he  is.  Any  way, 
he  doesn't  show  much  initiative  as  far  as  mundane 
affairs  go.  Frankly,  all  Ronald's  friends  are  disap- 
pointed in  him.  We  used  to  prophecy  that  he'd  set 
the  Hudson  river  on  fire  —  and  here  he  is,  a  clerk  on  a 
plantation  way  down  here  at  the  jumping  off  place." 

For  a  moment,  Catherine  remained  silent.  Truth 
to  tell,  she  too  had  felt  disappointed  in  Ronald.  That 
he  should  fail  of  his  appointment,  and  then  be  so  lack- 
ing in  resourcefulness  as  to  sink  contentedly  into  this 
minor  position  on  a  remote  sugar  plantation,  was  not 
what  she  had  imagined  for  him.  But  it  was  one  thing 
to  have  this  secret  thought,  and  another  to  hear  it  put 
into  words.  Her  cheek  reddened  as  Tom  talked,  and 
she  asked  with  elaborate  politeness,  "  Have  you  any 
further  criticisms  to  make  on  our  family?  May  I  in- 
quire in  what  way  /  am  displeasing?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  replied,  "  you  may  and  I  will  tell  you 
that  there  is  a  limit  to  my  patience  — " 


236  THE  GRINDING 

"  And  to  mine,"  she  flashed  back.  "  And  the  limit 
is  exactly  the  point  you  have  reached.  Talk  about  us 
all  you  like  behind  our  backs,  but  please  reserve  your 
criticisms  until  you  are  at  a  distance." 

"Well!  "  he  exclaimed;  and  so  astonished  was  he 
that  he  did  not  say  another  word,  but  threw  himself 
moodily  upon  the  bench  under  the  China  tree  at  Miss 
Victorine's  gate  while  Catherine  walked  rapidly  up 
the  path  between  the  rose  bushes. 


XXV 

1VTISS  VICTORINE,  watching  through  the  crack  of 
*•*•*•  the  door  while  Tom  and  Catherine  crossed  the 
bridge  and  turned  toward  her  front  gate,  naturally 
concluded  that  they  were  coming  to  call  upon  her,  and 
was  disappointed  when  he  threw  himself  upon  the 
bench.  Then,  with  renewed  pleasure,  she  watched 
Catherine  coming  up  the  walk,  until,  at  the  psycholog- 
ical moment,  when  her  foot  touched  the  step,  the  little 
old  lady  opened  wide  the  door  and  welcomed  her  in. 
With  much  ceremony  she  escorted  her  guest  into  the 
parlor  and  offered  her  one  of  the  three  glasses  of  orange 
flower  water  which  she  had  hastily  brought  and  ar- 
ranged upon  the  center  table  the  moment  she  per- 
ceived the  direction  the  two  were  taking. 

Catherine  was  still  quivering  with  agitation  from 
her  conversation  with  Tom  —  from  listening  to  his 
insinuations  and  slurs  upon  Fergus  and  criticisms  of 
Ronald  —  but  forcing  herself  to  an  outward  appear- 
ance of  calm,  she  responded  cordially  to  Miss  Vic- 
torine's  greeting. 

"  The  water  are  not  cold,"  the  old  lady  apologized 
regretfully.  "  M'sieur  Bergeron  'ave  not  brought  the 
hice,  it  is  now  many  day." 

"  No,"  said  Catherine,  "  we  haven't  had  ice,  either, 

237 


238  THE  GRINDING 

for  some  time.  I  suppose  it  melts  in  coming  so  far 
in  the  cart." 

"  I  suppose,"  Miss  Victorine  agreed;  "  but  soon  the 
Mail  Boat  will  come  as  far  as  Esperance,  an'  then  we 
will  'ave  nice,  hein?  " 

After  explaining  her  errand  —  that  she  wished  to 
buy  some  broilers  —  Catherine  raised  her  gliss  and 
said,  "  May  I  drink  this  to  your  health?  " 

"  But  no!  I  beg!  "  the  little  old  lady  cried  out  in 
evident  alarm,  "  it  bring  disaster  to  drink  'ealth  in 
water.  I  might  lose  all  my  chicken,"  and  she  entered 
upon  a  long  account  of  the  intricacies  and  dangers  of 
chicken-raising,  and  of  her  battles  with  minks  and 
snakes.  "  Yes,  Mees  Catrine,"  she  concluded,  "  I 
has  went  out  in  the  chicken  'ouse  when  the  night  made 
so  black  I  could  not  see  two  finger  before  my  nose." 
She  illustrated  by  holding  two  fingers  close  to  her  nose, 
and,  unconsciously,  looking  cross-eyed  at  them. 
"  And  what  are  the  result?  "  she  demanded  and  nodded 
smilingly  at  Catherine  as  a  prolonged  uproar  in  the 
rear  of  the  house  announced  that  a  hen  had  laid  an 

egg. 

In  a  tree  that  shaded  the  side  window  a  mocking- 
bird was  singing  in  liquid  cadences,  and  now  a  human 
voice  joined  in  the  melody;  clear,  and  sweet  and  plain- 
tive. Miss  Victorine  listened  for  a  moment,  then 
called,  "  It  is  thou,  Felicie?  " 

"  Yes,  Miss  Victorine,"  the  girlish  voice  answered, 
and  in  the  open  door  that  connected  the  parlor  with 
the  dining-room,  appeared  Felicie  Trosclair. 


THE  GRINDING  239 

In  a  great  rush  of  affection,  Catherine's  heart  went 
out  to  the  chi'd  of  Hortense  Trosclair,  as  the  girl, 
her  black  straw  hat  pushed  back  from  her  face,  set 
down  the  basket  she  was  carrying  and  timidly  ac- 
knowledged her  introduction  to  "  Mees  Maine." 

"  Come,"  said  Miss  Victorine,  "  sit  thee  down  and 
drink  a  glass  of  orange  flower  syrup;  see,  it  wait  for 
thee." 

Catherine  asked  Felicie  if  she  had  walked  all  the  dis- 
tance from  Gold  Mine,  but  the  old  lady  answered  for 
her  that  Felicie  never  walked,  "  They  wouldn'  trus' 
her  to  walk  all  that  long  ways  when  it  meks  hot  like 
to-day."  Then,  as  a  deep  pallor  succeeded  the  flush 
on  the  young  face,  she  asked  anxiously,  "  Thou  didst 
not  walk,  hein?  " 

"  Yes,  Miss  Victorine,  I  walked." 

"  But  the  otomobile  pass',  it  is  not  two  minute." 

"  They  will  take  me  back  with  them." 

"  I  'ope  so!  "  Miss  Victorine  exclaimed  indignantly. 
"With  all  that  basket  of  egg?  Euhnl  Tiens! 
Tranquilize  thyself,  two  minute.  Thou  hast  finish? 
Set  they  glass  upon  the  table  and  rest  they  head  upon 
my  knees  like  when  thou  wast  a  little  chile.  There," 
as  the  girl  obeyed.  "  That  is  well.  You  will  permit 
us  two  minute  delay,  Mees  Catrine?  " 

"  With  pleasure,"  said  Catherine,  and,  remember- 
ing Tom,  she  gave  a  fleeting  glance  out  of  the  window. 
He  was  drowsily  fanning  himself.  Slowly  and  ever 
more  slowly,  like  the  pendulum  of  a  clock  that  is  run- 
ning down,  his  hand  moved.  It  stopped,  and  the  white 


240  THE  GRINDING 

panama  hat,  slipping  from  the  loose  fingers,  rolled 
upon  the  ground. 

Meantime  Felicie,  on  a  low  stool,  was  sleeping  with 
her  head  on  Miss  Victorine's  knees.  "  When  I  marry 
M'sieur  Chauvin,"  the  old  lady  said  in  a  hushed  voice, 
smoothing  the  child's  dark  hair  with  a  toil-hardened, 
but  gentle  hand,  "  I  live  to  Bonne  Poignee,  where  he 
was  overseer  for  M'sieur  Evariste  Ledoux.  It  is  nex' 
to  Malabar,  an'  my  occasion  for  going  there  was  very 
often.  Mees  Hortense,  the  mother  of  this  chile,  was 
young  then  —  a  little  girl  —  of  a  sweetness  an'  good- 
ness, it  was  to  marvel.  This  pore  chile,"  the  keen  eyes 
were  moist  as  she  spoke,  "was  not  yet  born;  it  go 
without  saying." 

"  How  old  is  she?  "  Catherine  asked  softly  so  as  not 
to  disturb  her  sleep. 

"  She  'ave  fourteen  year;  but  you  would  not  give 
her  so  much,  hein?  " 

"Why,  no!"  Catherine  exclaimed  in  surprise. 
"  Are  you  sure?  " 

"  Very  sure,  for  her  birth  was  a  calamity  never  to 
be  forgot.  An'  when  her  mother  die,  I  would  have 
take  her  —  but  there  was  many  obstacle.  I  regret 
now  —  but  what  will  you?  We  all  'ave  many  regret. 
We  do  not  see  the  end  from  the  beginning.  It  seem 
best  at  Gole  Mine  where  Mees  Aggie  Blaise  —  Madam 
Blaise  —  would  remember  past  kindness,  it  appear  to 
me.  She  will  repay  it  to  this  chile.  She  will  give  her 
the  advantage  her  mother  so  much  desire  for  her. 
She  will  travel;  she  will  see  the  world.  With  me,  she 


THE  GRINDING  241 

grow  up  Cajan,"  Miss  Victorine  glanced  deprecatingly 
at  Catherine.  "She  will  not  even  speak  American 
like  she  ought.  Until  to-day  I  believe  all  this.  To- 
day I  am  undeceive'  and  I  regret.  But  what  will 
you?  "  A  tear  ran  down  her  long,  sharp  nose  and 
dropped  on  Felicie's  cheek.  The  child  drowsily  patted 
Miss  Victorine's  knee  and  smiled  in  her  sleep. 

"  She  has  no  fever?  "  Catherine  asked,  laying  her 
hand  on  the  child's  forehead. 

At  the  touch,  Felicie  opened  her  eyes,  and  after  a 
moment  of  bewilderment,  asked  in  an  anxious  tone, 
"  Have  I  slept  long,  Miss  Victorine?  They  will  be 
back  and  I  must  be  ready.  May  I  have  six  dozen 
eggs?  " 

"  As  many  as  thou  wilt,  dear  heart,"  Miss  Victorine 
replied,  rising  and  leading  the  way  through  her  im- 
maculate kitchen.  With  the  basket  on  her  arm  she 
rustled  ahead  in  her  starched  petticoats,  and  disap- 
peared into  the  hen-house;  first  explaining  that,  if 
they  wished,  they  might  look  over  the  fence  into  the 
enclosure  where  she  kept  her  broilers,  and  select  those 
"  Mees  Catrine  "  desired  for  Esperance. 

As  Miss  Victorine  delayed  her  coming,  Felicie  stood 
gazing  at  a  cloud  drifting  over  the  tree  tops.  Cath- 
erine, beside  her,  looked  up  too.  "  A  cloud!  "  she  ejac- 
ulated. "  I  hope  more  are  coming." 

"  How  beautiful  it  is,  streaming  up  that  way  into 
the  sky.  Don't  you  love  the  clouds,  Miss  Maine?  " 
Felicie  said  timidly. 

"  Yes,  I  do  love  them,"  Catherine  replied.    "  Have 


242  THE  GRINDING 

you  noticed  what  beautiful  sunsets  we  have  been  hav- 
ing? " 

"  I  am  busy  at  that  hour,"  Felicie  answered:  "  But 
haven't  you  noticed  the  lovely  sunrises?  " 

"  I'm  busy  at  that  hour  —  sleeping,"  Catherine  ac- 
knowledged. "  But  I'll  have  Marcelline  wake  me  to 
see  it  to-morrow  morning  —  and  I'll  think  about  you. 
Will  you  be  sure  to  think  of  me?  " 

"  Indeed  I  will,"  Felicie  declared;  "  to-morrow  morn- 
ing and  every  morning." 

"  I  can't  promise  to  be  up  at  that  hour  every  morn- 
ing, I'm  too  lazy,"  Catherine  confessed,  "  but  I'll  think 
of  you  at  sunset." 

"  I'll  be  glad  to  know  someone  is  thinking  about 
me,"  Felicie  said  shyly,  "  It  will  be  company  for  me." 
She  flushed  as  if  fearing  she  had  said  too  much.  "  Do 
you  see  the  face  on  that  side?  "  she  asked  still  looking 
up.  "  Isn't  it  wonderful?  Oh,  look  at  that  long  lock 
of  hair  streaming  back!  It's  changing  now.  It  has 
horns!  It's  a  goat.  Look  at  its  beard." 

"  That  ain't  right,  Felicie,"  Miss  Victorine  remon- 
strated, backing  out  of  the  hen-house  with  her  heavy 
basket  of  eggs.  "  I'm  scared  it  are  a  sin  to  try  to  see 
them  things  in  the  clouds;  heads  with  horns,  an' 
things  like  that.  Dost  thou  say  thy  little  prayer  thy 
mother  taught  thee?  " 

"  No,  Miss  Victorine,"  Felicie  confessed  as  she  went 
forward  to  help  carry  the  basket,  "  I  try  to,  but  I 
always  go  to  sleep  before  it  is  done." 

"Alas,  pore  chile,"  Miss  Victorine  exclaimed  pity- 


THE  GRINDING  243 

ingly,  "  thou  art  too  tired.  Say  thy  little  prayer  in 
the  mornin',  an'  I  will  ask  Pere  Ignace  to  dispense 
thee  with  repeating  it  at  night.  No  —  better  yet  —  I 
will  say  two  prayer  at  night;  one  for  thee  and  one  for 
me.  Then  thou  canst  sleep  in  peace." 

As  they  were  setting  the  basket  in  the  shade  of  the 
pecan  tree  by  the  side  gate,  from  far  away,  they  heard 
the  honk,  honk  of  an  automobile.  The  girl  stood  as 
if  transfixed,  the  brightness  fading  from  her  face  as 
she  watched  the  spot  of  scarlet  coming  nearer  and 
nearer,  growing  more  and  more  distinct  as  it  flashed 
between  the  trees  on  the  bayou  road.  The  three 
waited  in  silence.  Nearer  it  came  and  nearer  until 
they  discerned  Modesta,  all  in  white  with  her  face 
swathed  in  a  shimmering  veil,  and  beside  her,  Marc 
Sutton. 

There  are  supreme  moments  that  stand  out  like  high 
lights  in  our  lives,  and  this  was  one  for  Modesta 
Blaise,  as  she  sat  in  her  own  car  beside  the  future  sen- 
ator, while  Catherine  Maine,  the  ex-queen  of  the  Car- 
nival, stood  by  the  dusty  roadside.  Ignoring  Felicie, 
and  with  a  careless  nod  to  Miss  Victorine,  Modesta 
greeted  Catherine  with  effusion,  and  Marc,  descending 
from  the  car,  shook  hands  with  her.  He  spoke  of  the 
heat,  of  the  long-continued  drought,  hoping  that  Esper- 
ance  was  not  suffering  and  regretting  that  his  many 
engagements  had  made  it  impossible  to  get  over  to 
see  her  again.  Then,  as  Catherine  made  a  move  to 
help  Felicie  lift  the  basket,  he  stepped  forward  with  a 
polite,  "  Permit  me," 


244  THE  GRINDING 

Modesta  looked  on  with  an  expression  of  curiosity, 
wondering  that  the  haughty  Catherine  Maine  should 
put  herself  on  an  equality  with  a  servant,  and  unable 
to  comprehend  the  pride  that  scorned  to  deny  a  poor 
relation.  In  the  parishes,  kinship  extends  to  the  re- 
motest cousins;  would  Miss  Maine  own  this  connection 
to  Marc  Sutton? 

"  Good-by,  Felicie,"  Catherine  said,  taking  the 
child's  hand,  "  don't  forget  your  promise."  Then, 
turning  to  Marc,  "  You  know,  we  found  relatives  out 
here  in  the  country  —  the  Trosclairs  of  Malabar. 
This  little  girl  is  my  cousin."  And,  with  infinite 
grace,  she  bent  and  kissed  her. 

Modesta's  heart  leaped  within  her.  This  repaid 
her  for  all  the  slights,  real  and  imaginery.  Now,  now 
was  her  hour  of  triumph;  and  she  rode  on,  her  head 
erect,  her  heart  swelling  with  that  fierce  rapture  of 
revenge  that  is  sometimes  mistaken  for  joy. 

Catherine  said  good-by  to  Miss  Victorine  (the  more 
courteously  that  Modesta  had  shown  her  such  scant 
consideration),  and  promising  to  send  Pidgeon  for  the 
broilers,  walked  on  in  deep  thought,  pondering  the 
world-old  problem  of  good  and  evil.  Why  were  there 
such  differences  in  life,  she  wondered.  Such  cruel  dif- 
ferences! Why  was  that  defenceless  little  creature 
so  crushed!  And  why  was  she  herself  so  poor  that 
she  could  not  help  the  child!  What  a  pitiful,  degraded 
thing  human  nature  was !  Marc  with  his  silly,  society 
lies.  But  there  were  exceptions;  Miss  Victorine,  pure 
in  heart  and  self -forgetful.  Good  as  gold  in  spite  of 


THE  GRINDING  245 

her  queer  superstitions  and  her  ignorance.  And  Fer- 
gus, high-minded  and  self-sacrificing.  And  Ronald  — 
yes,  Ronald  — 

At  this  moment,  a  horseman  overtook  her  and  swing- 
ing lightly  down  from  the  saddle,  spoke  to  her.  He 
was  glowing  with  color,  with  life,  with  a  repressed 
excitement  at  seeing  her.  He  said  he  had  found  a 
wonderful,  blossoming  vine  in  the  woods.  Might  he 
bring  it  to  her?  His  voice  was  eager  and  she,  know- 
ing that  he  was  making  an  excuse  to  stop,  looked  up 
at  him  with  complex  emotions.  Dimly  she  recognized 
the  danger  of  condescending  to  this  boy  who  must 
never  cross  the  gulf  that  lay  between  them.  What 
would  he  do  if  he  understood  his  true  position?  The 
thought  of  Lochinvar  flashed  through  her  mind. 
Would  this  elfish  being,  if  he  knew  the  truth,  sweep 
her  away,  carry  her  off  like  that  wild  highlander? 
The  thought  gave  her  an  unacknowledged  thrill,  and, 
drawn  on  by  the  dangerous  fascination  of  her  own 
power,  and  by  an  unwillingness  to  commit  an  appar- 
ent unkindness,  she  deferred  explanation  and  com- 
mitted the  real  cruelty  of  leaving  him  in  error.  Una- 
ware that  her  own  face  reflected  something  of  his 
expression,  she  said,  "Will  you?  I  should  be  de- 
lighted," and  extended  her  hand  in  token  that  she 
wished  him  to  go. 

With  unconcealed  emotion,  he  took  it  and  raised  it 
to  his  lips,  then,  mounting,  galloped  away  without  a 
word,  leaving  her  half  afraid  of  the  spirit  she  had 
evoked. 


246  THE  GRINDING 

They  had  talked  together  for  five  minutes,  but  in 
those  five  minutes,  Ronald  saw  them  from  the  win- 
dow of  the  sugar-house  near-by,  and  Tom,  watching 
them  between  half-closed  lids,  sat  up  and  uttered  an 
ejaculatory  oath. 


XXVI 

"1T7HEN  Tom  left,  it  was  with  protestations  of 
*  *  friendship  on  his  lips.  He  made  a  list  of  books 
that  Fergus  especially  missed  in  the  treatise  on  Numis- 
matics which  he  was  trying  to  finish  from  memory. 

"  You  can't  do  it  without  books  of  reference,"  Tom 
repeated  more  than  once.  "  Macauley's  and  Glad- 
stone's memories  combined  would  have  been  inadequate 
to  such  a  task.  But  I'll  send  you  Poole's  Catalogue 
of  Ptolemaic  Coins,  and  I'll  poke  up  the  American 
Numismatic  and  Archeological  Society  —  that's  the 
right  name,  isn't  it?  "  referring  to  the  memorandum  he 
held. 

He  was  as  smiling  and  chatty  as  on  the  morning  of 
his  arrival,  and  as  he  drove  away  to  take  the  train  at 
Bergerac,  Fergus  said,  "  That  man  has  a  good  heart. 
His  faults  are  on  the  surface."  As  the  vehicle  disap- 
peared around  the  bend  of  the  road,  he  added,  "  Ron- 
ald doesn't  trust  him,  but  I  fear  we  are  growing  sus- 
picious in  our  natures  —  living  so  much  alone.  I  was 
sorry  Ronald  insisted  on  accompanying  him  to  Ber- 
gerac." 

"  Yes,"  Catherine  agreed,  "  I  think  it  was  a  work  of 

supererogation . ' ' 

"Not  that,  Cathie,"  Fergus  corrected  her.    "He 

247 


248  THE  GRINDING 

has  done  us  an  inestimable  service.  He  has  saved  us, 
in  fact.  I  believe,  in  spite  of  his  satiric  manner,  he's 
a  good  friend." 

"  Hardly  that,  I  think,"  she  replied.  In  her  own 
mind,  she  thought,  "  He  can't  hurt  us.  He's  signed 
the  papers."  But  she  felt  secretly  dissatisfied  with 
herself  that  she  should  have  waited  until  Esperance 
was  safe,  and  then  to  have  shown  so  plainly  that  he 
wearied  her. 

Marcelline,  with  a  letter  in  her  hand,  knocked  on 
the  frame  of  the  open  door.  "  Miss  Catrine,"  she  said, 
"  Unc'  Timothy  Brim  have  came  up  the  bayou  this 
mornin'  an'  lef  this  letter  fer  you.  He  say,  he  mout 
be  goin'  to  the  oyscher  reef,  one  er  these  days,  an'  he 
were  boun'  to  give  this  to  you  'fore  he  went.  He  say 
he  ben  layin'  off  to  bring  it  too  long  to  talk  about,  an' 
I  were  to  put  it  right  in  you  hand  an'  not  let  nobody 
else  tech  it." 

Wonderingly,  Catherine  took  the  letter  and,  opening 
it,  read: 

"  This  is  to  be  given  you  after  my  death,  so  I  write 
without  any  excuse  except  my  great  need.  In  the 
belief  that  you  have  not  heard  my  true  story,  I  will 
repeat  it  for  the  last  time. 

"  I  was  married,  fifteen  years  ago,  on  the  fourth 
of  November,  in  the  Church  of  St.  Pancras,  London, 
to  your  cousin,  Ralph  Fessenden.  My  godmother, 
with  whom  I  had  been  living,  had  died  suddenly,  leav- 
ing me  quite  alone.  There  was  no  one  to  object  to 


THE  GRINDING  249 

our  marriage,  but,  as  it  proved,  we  were  unwise  not 
to  notify  our  relatives.  We  were  so  happy  we  forgot 
the  rest  of  the  world.  The  following  year  our  daugh- 
ter was  born  near  the  village  of  Grindelwald.  It  would 
have  been  easy  to  verify  these  statements  had  any  one 
cared  to  do  so. 

"  I  am  sure  he  loved  me  as  I  loved  him,  and  shall 
to  the  end  of  eternity.  But  he  is  dead.  I  don't  know 
where.  He  left  me  one  morning  to  walk  to  the  village. 
I  have  never  seen  him  since.  I  need  not  tell  you 
what  people  said  when  I  came  back  to  Malabar.  The 
world  is  a  cruel  place,  and  soon  I  must  leave  my  poor 
little  one  in  it,  alone.  You  have  such  a  winning  voice, 
such  a  lovely  face,  and  you  claimed  kinship  with  me. 
You  did  not  know  my  story,  and  you  are  so  young  I 
dared  not  accept  your  friendship  lest  you  break  my 
heart  later  by  withdrawing  it. 

"  Mrs.  Blaise  has  offered  to  take  my  daughter  as  her 
own.  She  has  wealth  and  can  provide  for  my  little  one. 
But  if  her  home  should  not  prove  a  refuge,  if  they 
should  grow  tired  of  her  —  there  are  a  thousand  things 
might  happen  —  if  there  is  need,  I  beg  you  to  protect 
her.  From  the  grave  I  shall  thank  and  bless  you. 
"  HORTENSE  TROSCLAIR  FESSENDEN." 

For  a  moment  she  felt  dazed,  as  if  a  voice  had  spoken 
from  the  tomb.  Then  in  sudden  excitement  she  cried, 
"  Ralph  Fessenden  was  Felicie's  father!  "  Scarcely 
able  to  contain  herself,  she  ran  out  to  the  front  gallery 
to  impart  the  wonderful  news  to  Fergus.  He  had  al- 


250  THE  GRINDING 

ready  gone  to  the  sugar  house,  so,  feeling  the  impera- 
tive need  of  some  one  in  whom  to  confide,  she  went 
in  search  of  Marcelline.  But  Marcelline  had  gone  out 
to  the  cow  lot,  whither  Catherine  feared  to  follow.  So, 
as  a  last  resort,  she  put  on  her  hat  and  started  for  Miss 
Victorine's. 

She  found  the  old  lady  in  her  garden  inspecting  a 
row  of  flourishing  okra  plants,  and,  without  the  usual 
(and  expected)  compliments  on  the  garden  and  poultry 
yard,  burst  impetuously  into  her  story. 

"  And  I  wish  you  would  take  me  right  over  to  Gold 
Mine,"  she  concluded.  "  I'm  not  going  to  let  that 
child  stay  there  another  moment.  I'm  going  to  bring 
her  to  Esperance.  I  don't  think  they  treat  her  well." 

"  As  for  that,"  Miss  Victorine  agreed,  "  that  are  very 
true.  You  know,"  she  spoke  guardedly,  lowering  her 
voice  so  that  Uncle  Peter  who  was  weeding  nearby 
might  not  hear,  "  when  that  Mees  Snive'  were  here, 
they  accuse  little  Felicie  —  but  let  us  not  speak  of  it." 

"  I  know,"  Catherine  replied.  She  was  impatient 
to  be  off  and  wondered  at  the  slowness  of  a  person 
who  was  usually  so  nervously  quick  to  act.  "  Can't 
Uncle  Peter  harness  the  horse?  " 

"  Mees  Catrine,"  said  the  old  lady,  coming  close  and 
speaking  very  cautiously,  "  Felicie  are  no  longer  there. 
She  are  gone." 

"  Gone!  "  Catherine  ejaculated.     "  Where?  " 

Miss  Victorine  made  a  warning  motion.  "  Yes, 
Mees  Catrine.  She  are  safe.  Pere  Ignace  know 
where,  He.  are  satisfy.  He  caution  me  to  be  satisfy 


THE  GRINDING  251 

also,  and  he  say  there  are  many  thing  to  be  arrange' 
before  her  refuge  are  reveal'.  If  Pere  Ignace  are  sat- 
isfy, we  may  repose  our  mind,  hein?  " 

"  Yes,"  Catherine  agreed,  "  I  suppose  so." 

"  Certes!  If  he,  who  baptize'  her  and  her  mother, 
and  who  love  them,  are  satisfy,  should  not  we?  " 

"  I  suppose  so,"  Catherine  repeated,  speaking  slowly 
and  in  a  disappointed  tone.  They  were  standing  in 
the  shade  of  the  pecan  tree  at  the  side  gate,  and  she 
looked  across  at  the  priest's  house.  "  I  wonder  if  he 
would  tell  me,"  she  said. 

"  Pere  Ignace?  Non!  Not  if  the  president  of  the 
United  State'  ask.  Not  if  he  promise  an'  vow  an' 
swear!  Non!" 

"  I  suppose  there's  no  use,"  Catherine  said. 

"  I  assure  you,  no,"  said  Miss  Victorine.  "  But, 
Mees  Catrine,  all  things  come  with  patience.  As  we 
know  she  are  safe,  we  can  wait,  hein?  " 

"  I  suppose  so,"  Catherine  acknowledged  regretfully 
and  turned  homeward. 


XXVII 

A  UTUMN  had  come,  and  once  more  the  grinding 
•**•  was  at  hand.  A  year  and  a  half  had  passed  since 
Catherine  and  Fergus  took  that  long  drive  into  exile. 
Since  that  day,  the  bleak,  cold  rains  of  March  had 
twice  come  and  gone;  the  early  spring  with  its  tender 
green  and  roseate  foliage,  its  fleecy  clouds  and  first, 
tentative  bird  notes;  the  splendid  pageantry  of  the 
advancing  season  with  its  pomp  of  oleander  and  jessa- 
mine, of  crepe  myrtle  and  pomegranate.  Then  the 
summers,  when  the  cane  fields  seemed  to  swell  upward 
like  a  rising  tide  of  verdure;  when  the  air  was  full  of 
the  voices  of  birds;  the  flute-like  note  of  the  thrush, 
the  rapid  warble  of  the  oriole,  the  melodious  song  of 
the  mocking-bird;  the  plaintive,  silvery  tremolo  of  the 
owl,  lamenting  in  the  perfumed  dusk.  The  succession 
of  long,  hot  days,  drenched  with  the  vivid  gold  of  the 
sunlight;  the  nights,  resplendent  with  moonlight,  with 
starlight,  and  with  the  fairy-like  glitter  of  fire-flies 
dripping  downward  through  the  air  like  globules  of 
molten  gold;  all  were  past,  and  now  again  autumn  was 
here.  The  sunlight  growing  more  remote,  still  shone 
warmly  on  the  fast-browning  vegetation  which  sent  out 
a  pungent  odor  as  if  bruised.  Tiny  butterflies  like  bits 
of  black  velvet  fluttered  about  the  golden-rod,  the 
yellow  coffee-weed,  and  the  tall,  feathery  grasses  like 

252 


THE  GRINDING  253 

burnished  copper  which  covered  the  bayou's  bank. 
The  soft  haze  of  the  St.  Martin's  summer  mellowed  the 
distant  woods,  which  showed  green  and  gray  and 
golden-brown  against  the  silvery  sky. 

The  sugar  house  which  had  lain  dormant  through 
the  long  months  of  summer,  now  awoke  to  a  feverish 
activity.  There  was  a  sound  of  hammering  and  saw- 
ing, and  of  many  voices  talking,  and  singing. 

In  overhauling  the  machinery,  a  break  was  discov- 
ered which,  Placide  Chauvin  said,  must  be  repaired 
before  the  grinding  began.  They  must  send  to  the 
city  at  once  for  a  skilled  mechanic  and,  to  Catherine's 
surprise,  Fergus  asked  her  if  she  would  be  willing  to 
carry  a  letter  to  Bergerac  to  mail,  adding,  "  It  must 
be  sent  by  special  delivery.  Should  you  be  willing  to 
attend  to  it  for  me?  " 

"  Willing!  "  she  cried;  "  I'd  love  to." 

"  And  will  you  bring  me  some  money  from  the  bank? 
I've  made  out  the  check  in  your  name." 

"  Oh,  Fergus !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  This  seems  like 
living;  to  be  doing  something!  " 

And  so  it  came  about  that  on  a  lovely  morning  in 
October  she  was  on  her  way  to  Bergerac.  As  the  mules 
plodded  drowsily  along,  roused  now  and  then  by  a 
perfunctory  "  Giddap!  "  from  Pidgeon,  she  looked 
about  her  at  the  fields,  the  woods,  the  bayou.  She  had 
never  seen  this  road  but  once,  and  then  through  a  veil 
of  winter  rain  and  despairing  tears.  Now  the  warm> 
autumn  breeze  was  blowing  softly,  and  a  kingfisher 
flying  ahead  paused;  then,  as  they  drew  near,  flew  on 


254  THE  GRINDING 

and  waited.  Miles  and  miles,  along  the  windings  of 
the  bayou,  in  the  softened  sunlight,  past  a  clump  of 
woodland,  around  another  bend,  and  Bergerac  lay  be- 
fore them. 

The  town  was  an  irregular  sprinkling  of  houses  and 
of  wide  gardens  rilled  with  large-leaved,  semi-tropical 
plants,  between  which  the  red-tiled  roofs  gleamed  pic- 
turesquely. Lying  as  it  did  in  the  angle  formed  by  the 
bayou  and  canal,  it  cast  a  rainbow  reflection  on  the 
brown  waters.  Here  and  there  a  plastered  house  of  pale 
green  or  blue  or  pink  shining  through  the  foliage  of  en- 
circling trees,  gave  an  added  touch  of  gayety  to  the 
scene.  Oleanders  and  crepe  myrtles,  gigantic  "  elephant 
ears  ";  and  banana  plants  ragged  and  stately  like  im- 
poverished grandees,  leaned  over  the  fences  into  grass 
grown  lanes  bordered  with  Cherokee  roses  and  the  deep 
purple  rose  which  here  grows  wild.  In  these  lanes 
the  humming  birds  flashed  from  blossom  to  blossom, 
the  bees  gathered  their  honey  droningly,  and  the  tiny 
green  lizards  darted  about  in  the  sun.  The  bayou  and 
canal  were  filled  with  fishing  craft  of  every  shade; 
green,  blue,  red,  yellow,  with  vast  sails  of  white  or 
crimson,  and  with  glistening  cargoes  of  silvery  fish,  of 
coral  colored  shrimp,  of  oysters  in  their  bluish  shells, 
of  vegetables  and  fruits  in  every  hue.  It  was  a  glow- 
ing riot  of  color. 

As  Catherine's  rattling  surrey  crossed  the  bridge  and 
drew  up  before  the  little  frame  building,  placarded 
L'Hotel  de  I'Univers,  the  row  of  men  seated  on  the 
front  gallery  removed  their  feet  from  the  railing,  sat 


THE  GRINDING  2SS 

up  straight,  and  looked  with  interest  at  the  newcomers. 
Pidgeon  they  recognized  and  so  were  able  to  guess  at 
Catherine's  identity.  A  corpulent,  bald-headed  man 
rose  to  his  feet  and,  introducing  himself  as  Monsieur 
Duval,  the  proprietor  of  the  hotel,  assisted  "  Mees 
Maine  "  in  descending  from  the  vehicle,  escorted  her 
to  the  best  room  in  the  house,  urged  her  to  make  her- 
self comfortable,  then  returned  to  the  gallery  to  ap- 
pease the  curiosity  of  his  friends.  All  felt  the  liveliest 
interest,  and  wondered  why  she  had  come  to  Ber- 
gerac.  Monsieur  Duval  hazarded  the  suggestion  that 
she  might  have  occasion  to  go  to  the  bank,  and  a  long- 
drawn  "A-h-h-h!  "  spoke  volumes  of  comprehension 
on  the  part  of  his  hearers;  for,  although  Catherine 
knew  little  about  Bergerac,  Bergerac  knew  much  about 
Catherine  as,  indeed,  it  did  about  every  one  on  the 
bayou.  And  although  the  fate  of  the  universe  might 
not  be  settled  on  the  little  gallery  of  the  Hotel  de 
I'Univers,  the  character,  fortune,  and  probable  future 
of  every  planter  for  many  miles  around  were  there 
fully  discussed  and  decided  upon.  So  it  was  not  sur- 
prising to  them  to  hear  that  "  Mees  Maine  "  was  prob- 
ably going  to  the  bank.  Of  course,  M'sieur  Maine 
and  M'sieur  RonaP  were  too  busy  with  preparations 
for  the  grinding;  and  it  was  very,  very  important  that 
some  one  should  see  M'sieur  Arcimon,  the  banker,  be- 
fore the  grinding  began. 

When  Catherine  went  into  the  great,  square  dining- 
room,  where  strings  of  snowy  garlic  and  scarlet  peppers 
hung  from  the  rafters,  and  where  her  feet  crunched  the 


256  THE  GRINDING 

glittering,  white  sand  with  which  the  floor  was 
sprinkled,  she  could  still  hear  the  men  talking  on  the 
gallery. 

"  Mees  Maine  'ave  bring  a  letter  from  the  boss  to 
send  to  the  city  for  a  machinist  to  come  an'  fix  them 
crusher,"  some  one  announced. 

She  wondered  how  they  knew  it,  not  realizing  that 
the  address  on  the  letter,  which  they  carefully  exam- 
ined after  she  had  placed  it  in  the  hotel  letter  box,  be- 
trayed the  nature  of  its  contents.  She  wondered  how 
they  were  so  intimately  acquainted  with  her  affairs, 
and  she  had  an  impulse  to  laugh  when  some  one  gravely 
announced,  "  I  always  did  crave  to  see  a  queen.  I  cut 
out  her  picture  from  the  Abeille  de  la  Nouvelle  Or- 
leans, las'  year,  time  she  were  queen  of  the  Carnival. 
I  sure  am  glad  to  see  a  queen." 

"  An'  me,"  came  in  a  chorus  from  the  others  on  the 
gallery. 

A  youth  with  pomatumed  hair  and  showy  watch 
chain  walked  jauntily  past  the  window  and  paused  to 
gossip. 

"  Mees  Maine  'ave  came  up  the  bayou,  this  morn- 
in',"  some  one  informed  him. 

"  So  they  tells  me,  over  to  the  bank,"  he  replied, 
shifting  his  toothpick  to  the  other  corner  of  his  mouth. 

"  M'sieur  Maine  'ave  send  to  the  city  for  a  machin- 
ist," the  first  voice  continued. 

"  He  are  throwin'  away  money,"  the  young  man  an- 
swered pompously.  "  Every  one  say  Esperance  are 
mortgage'  up  to  the  handle,  an'  makin'  open-kettle 


THE  GRINDING  257 

sugar  like  they  do,  ain't  goin'  to  get  them  out  of  debt. 
Not  with  sugar  sellin'  at  no  such  price  as  they  gets 
now.  M'sieur  Blaise  are  the  h-only  planter  what  will 
make  money  this  year." 

"Ah,  la!  la!  "  said  one  of  his  hearers,  "I  peetee 
M'sieur  Maine,  Pierre;  I  surely  peetee  M'sieur 
Maine!  " 

"  Tha's  M'sieur  Maine's  own  affairs,"  said  Pierre. 
"  He  'ave  eat  his  white  bread.  He  ain't  got  nothin' 
but  black  bread  lef,  I  reckon,"  and  he  swaggered  away 
with  his  hat  cocked  over  one  eye. 

Monsieur  Duval  expectorated  impressively  and  said, 
"  Pierre  Poisson  figure  to  himself  that  he  own  Gole 
Mine  because  Modeste  'ave  look  at  him  out  of  them 
buttermilk  eye  of  hern;  but  she  ain't  goin'  to  marry 
Pierre  —  excep'  as  a  las'  drawin'.  She  plan  to  marry 
M'sieur  Ronal',  or  M'sieur  Maine,  or  Meester  Sutton. 
Ef  they  fails  her,  an'  ef  she  ain't  got  no  hopes  in  the 
city,  then  she  might  take  Pierre  —  not  otherwise." 

There  was  a  chorus  of  affirmatives,  for,  though  they 
might  stand  in  awe  of  Catherine's  hauteur  as  belonging 
to  her  station,  they  resented  it  in  Modesta,  who,  as 
they  said,  "  are  jes'  as  Cajan  as  we-alls." 

"  Ole  man  Poisson  vow  five  dollar  to  St.  Anthony 
fer  stoppin'  the  high  water  'fore  it  reach  Zelinka's 
place,"  some  one  announced. 

"  Five  dollar!  "  another  ejaculated;  "he  cain't  pay 
that  much.  Two  would  'ave  ben  enough.  'Tain't  no 
use  vowin'  more'n  you  kin  pay  —  some  folks  is  so  rash 
with  the  Saints." 


258  THE  GRINDING 

There  was  a  difference  of  opinion  on  this  subject, 
and  M'sieur  Duval  said,  "  Miss  Delicia  vow  twelve 
candle  ef  her  house  don'  get  wash  erway,  an'  now  she 
regret.  She  say  six  would  Ve  ben  enough,  an'  Pere 
Ignace  tell  her  she  'ave  got  to  keep  her  vow.  Ef  she 
don'  keep  her  vow,  nex'  time  'twon't  do  no  good  to  vow 
twenty-four.  She  was  mad!  But  he  wouldn'  let  her 
off." 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  little  red  brick  bank,  a 
short  distance  down  the  street,  but  when,  after  dinner, 
Catherine  came  out  of  her  room,  M'sieur  Duval  in- 
sisted on  escorting  her  ceremoniously  to  the  door  of 
the  hotel  and  pointing  it  out.  The  occupants  of  the 
chairs  gazed  silently  upon  the  slender,  city  girl  as  she 
walked  down  the  street,  where  a  procession  of  cows 
was  filing  past,  chewing  open-mouthed,  swinging  their 
heads  and  lazily  sweeping  away  the  flies.  The  chil- 
dren playing  on  the  shady  side  of  the  street  paused 
and  stared. 

Check  in  hand,  she  approached  the  window  of  the 
paying  teller,  and  glanced  about  her.  A  man  who  had 
just  finished  writing,  dipped  the  pen  into  the  ink  and 
offered  it  to  her,  saying,  with  a  soft,  gentle  intonation, 
"  It  is  of  the  worst,  but  better  than  none."  There 
was  a  quality  in  the  voice  that  caught  her  attention, 
and  as  she  glanced  at  him,  she  was  struck  by  the  re- 
finement of  his  face.  She  had  an  impression  he  wished 
to  say  something  more  to  her,  so  vivid  was  the  expres- 
sion of  his  dark  eyes.  In  signing  her  own  name,  she 
accidentally  glanced  at  his:  "  fivariste  Ledoux." 


THE  GRINDING  259 

Where  had  she  heard  that  name  before?  She  could 
not  remember. 

The  mules  were  to  be  freshly  shod,  and  after  resting 
as  usual  at  the  hotel  stable,  were  to  return  in  the  even- 
ing to  Esperance;  but  it  was  a  part  of  Catherine's  out- 
ing that,  after  certain  necessary  purchases  in  the  prim- 
itive little  shops,  she  was  to  return  to  Esperance  in 
the  Mail  Boat,  on  this  its  first  trip  so  far  down  the 
bayou. 

The  boat  proved  to  be  a  long,  low,  covered  craft, 
surrounded  by  an  open  deck  and  divided  into  two  com- 
partments; one  for  freight,  the  other  for  passengers. 
In  the  freight  compartment  were  packages  of  all  sorts 
and  blocks  of  ice  to  be  delivered  at  the  various  plan- 
tations. Behind  the  ice  at  the  stern  of  the  boat,  there 
was  a  young  bull  that  bellowed  and  strained  wrath- 
fully  at  its  rope,  making  futile  efforts  to  charge  into 
the  compartment  reserved  for  human  passengers. 

As  Catherine  stepped  in  through  the  low  doorway, 
a  black-eyed  girl  sprang  up  from  the  bench  where  she 
was  sitting,  on  the  shady  side,  and  insisted  on  giving 
up  her  place.  Catherine  remembered  seeing  her  at 
Modesta  Blaise's  reception.  How  long  ago  it  seemed! 
And  what  changes  had  taken  place  since  then!  In  a 
corner  opposite,  were  a  young  man  and  his  childish 
looking  wife,  with  their  huge,  brown  baby  which 
frowned  at  the  company  with  piercing  black  eyes. 
The  young  girl  seated  herself  beside  the  family  party 
and  divided  her  time  between  talking  to  the  baby  and 
glancing  curiously  at  Catherine.  In  another  corner 


260  THE  GRINDING 

sat  a  large,  clean-looking  colored  woman  of  a  bright 
ginger-cake  color.  The  front  of  the  cabin  was  of 
glass,  and  here,  on  a  high  stool,  sat  the  Captain  of  the 
little  craft. 

As  the  boat  was  about  to  start,  there  was  a  slight 
commotion  and  an  old  woman  in  a  clean,  gray  calico 
dress  and  black  sunbonnet,  stepped  down  the  bank, 
leading  a  man  who  carried  a  heavy  cane  in  his  hand. 
Several  of  the  men  who  were  standing  around  waiting 
to  see  the  boat  start,  took  hold  of  the  newcomers,  ap- 
parently with  the  purpose  of  helping  them,  and  as  the 
two  reached  the  narrow  side  deck  there  were  cries  (in 
French)  of  "Look  out!  Take  care!  "  Then,  as  the 
man  moved  on  and  felt  his  way  carefully  and  with  the 
assistance  of  others, 'to  the  front  deck,  there  were  ex- 
clamations of  "  There!  All  right!  "  and  other  expres- 
sions of  relief.  Some  one  handed  the  old  woman  her 
bag  of  black  oil  cloth.  She  laid  it  on  the  floor  of  the 
cabin,  and  when  both  Catherine  and  the  black-eyed 
girl  offered  her  their  places,  she  declined  with  a  smile 
of  sunny  sweetness.  Seating  herself  on  her  bag,  she 
took  off  her  sunbonnet  and  fanned  herself  with  it, 
gazing  meanwhile  at  her  fellow  passengers  with  the 
frank  astonishment  of  infancy  and  old  age. 

At  a  sudden  outburst  of  bellowing,  Catherine  looked 
anxiously  in  the  direction  of  the  bull,  and  a  lady  at  her 
right  said,  "  He  enrages  himself  a  little  on  account  of 
the  voyage,  but  he  cannot  escape.  He  is  safe  pris- 
oner." 

Her  eyes  were  intensely  black  and  her  eyebrows  were 


THE  GRINDING  261 

so  dark  they  looked  as  if  they  were  penciled;  the  more 
so  that  her  hair  was  gray.  As  the  wind  blew  in  at  the 
open  door,  it  tossed  her  curls  all  about  her  face.  She 
wore  an  ornate  black  silk  dress  which  Catherine  sus- 
pected of  being  the  work  of  Miss  Delicia;  and  her 
towering  hat  covered  with  plumes  was  evidently  a  crea- 
tion of  the  village  milliner.  As  she  brushed  back  her 
curls  with  an  impatient  gesture,  the  dimpled,  black- 
eyed  girl  sprang  up  exclaiming:  "  But,  Maman,  your 
hair  is  so  gay!  " 

"  But  yes,"  the  lady  acknowledged  regretfully,  "  I 
have  always  had  the  very  gay  hair." 

The  girl  stroked  back  her  mother's  "  gay  "  locks, 
fastened  them  with  side-combs,  and  reseated  herself 
beside  the  baby. 

"  But  that  was  a  beautiful  fete,"  she  said  to  the 
company  at  large,  "  and  to-morrow  will  be  the  proces- 
sion. I  desired  to  stay,  but  my  papa  insist  upon  my 
return." 

"  You  have  a  very  mean  papa,"  said  the  colored 
woman  in  a  deep,  pleasant  voice. 

"  You  know  who  is  my  papa?  "  asked  the  girl. 

"Yes,  I  know,"  the  woman  answered.  "He  is 
M'sieur  Leonce  LeBreton.  My  sister  live  to  your 
place,  an'  tha's  where  I'm  goin'  to  visit,  right  now. 
You  have  a  very  mean  papa.  I  know;  me." 

"  No,"  interrupted  Madam  LeBreton  dispassion- 
ately, "he  is  not  mean;  he  is  stric'.  I  desire  her  to 
stay  to  the  Fete  Champetre,  but  her  papa  miss  her  too 
much.  He  didn't  do  that  for  meanness." 


262  THE  GRINDING 

The  old  woman  smiled  understandingly  at  Cath- 
erine, and  this  attracted  the  attention  of  Madam  Le- 
Breton, who  said,  in  French,  "  Are  you  not  Madam 
Dulac?  " 

"  Oui,  Madame,"  the  old  woman  answered. 

Madam  LeBreton  turned  to  Catherine  and  said  in 
an  undertone,  "  She  begs."  Then,  with  a  manner  of 
perfect  equality  in  which  there  was  no  touch  of  con- 
descension, she  resumed,  "You  were  at  the  Fete,  I 
think?  " 

"  Oui,  Madame,  and,"  (always  speaking  in  French) 
"  before  that,  I  spent  a  week  in  Badeauville." 

"  You  went  there  to  beg?  "  Madam  LeBreton  asked, 
and  again,  with  perfect  dignity  and  composure,  the 
beggar-woman  assented. 

"  And  where  do  you  stay  now?  "  Madam  LeBreton 
questioned  further. 

"  At  Garlenda." 

"  Ah?    The  place  of  Madam  Sylvain  Durand?  " 

"  Non,  Madame,"  the  old  woman  replied  in  her 
calm,  gentle  voice.  "  It  is  the  other  Garlenda;  the 
plantation  of  M'sieur  Evariste  Ledoux." 

The  boat  had  been  stopping  at  the  various  planta- 
tions to  put  off  the  mail,  to  leave  the  ice  and  various 
packages,  and  to  permit  a  constantly  varying  stream  of 
passengers  to  come  and  go.  And  now  the  baby  and  its 
parents,  together  with  the  resentful  bull,  left  the  boat. 

At  this  landing  two  young  girls  got  on;  one,  a  tall, 
serious  looking  blonde  in  blue,  the  other  a  tiny  brunette 
in  vivid  pink.  They  entered  the  cabin  very  modestly 


THE  GRINDING  263 

with  a  murmured,  "Bon  jour,  Mesdames,"  followed 
by  a  surprised,  "  It  is  thou,  Celimene?  " 

'  Thou  didst  not  stay  for  the  procession?  "  the 
brunette  questioned  in  astonishment. 

"Alas!  Papa  send  for  me!  "  Celimene  answered. 
"  And  thou?  Why  didst  thou  not  stay?  " 

The  tiny  brunette  sighed  dramatically.  "We  are 
desolate  to  depart,"  she  explained,  "but  our  papa 
too!  "  She  made  a  gesture  of  despair. 

"  But  Clelie,"  interposed  the  blonde,  "  thou  knowest, 
we  asked  to  visit  Noemie,  and  it  is  the  Mail  Boat  is  in 
fault  to  run  so  far  only  once  a  week.  For  that  we 
must  not  blame  papa.  And  after,  comes  the  grinding, 
and  it  goes  without  saying  we  cannot  go  then." 

Madam  LeBreton  resumed  her  questioning  of  the 
beggar  woman  by  asking  where  she  was  going. 

"  I  am  going  to  Petit  Bocage,"  Madam  Dulac  re- 
plied. 

"Ah?  The  plantation  of  M'sieur  Telesford  Del- 
fry?  " 

"Out,  Madame." 

"  You  go  to  beg?  " 

"  Non,  Madame,  I  go  to  visit  my  daughter.  I  have 
not  seen  her,  it  is  a  year.  I  would  not  go  now,  but 
that  Mam'zelle,  M'sieur  fivariste's  daughter,  give  me 
the  money." 

"  His  daughter?  "  Madam  LeBreton  began,  but  was 
interrupted  by  the  prolonged  whistling  of  the  boat  as 
it  drew  up  at  Belize  Plantation.  She  rose  and  fol- 
lowed by  Celimene  and  by  the  colored  woman,  after 


264  THE  GRINDING 

bidding  the  remaining  passengers  a  ceremonious 
"  Adieu,"  left  them. 

From  Belize  Plantation  to  Petit  Bocage,  the  two 
sisters  whispered  together,  and  Madame  Dulac  gazed 
about  her.  She  then  rose  and  with  a  polite, "  Bon  Soir, 
Mesdemoiselles"  went  out  on  to  the  deck  and  waited 
for  her  son. 

There  was  the  same  little  excitement  in  getting  him 
ashore  as  when  he  came  aboard,  and  when  they  had 
reached  the  road,  Madam  Dulac,  carrying  the  oil  cloth 
bag  on  her  shoulder,  turned  and  smiled  at  Catherine. 
Several  children  came  running  from  an  unpainted  cabin 
at  the  roadside,  and  their  mother,  walking  with  swift, 
lithe  step,  paused  to  kiss  the  blind  man  in  passing, 
then,  holding  out  her  arms,  clasped  the  old  woman 
to  her  breast,  stroked  back  the  hair,  and  stooping,  cov- 
ered the  wrinkled  face  with  kisses. 


XXVIII 

'  I  ''HE  following  week  the  grinding  began,  and  im- 
•••  mediately  the  slow-going,  quiet  life  of  the  plan- 
tation assumed  a  business-like  routine.  The  days  and 
nights  were  divided  into  watches;  there  was  a  constant 
going  and  coming,  an  almost  feverish  anxiety  as  to  the 
yield,  the  sucrose,  the  action  of  the  machinery,  the 
amount  of  fuel  necessary  for  making  the  grinding,  the 
relative  freshness  and  brackishness  of  the  bayou  water 
which  must  be  used.  There  were  no  regular  hours  for 
family  meals,  as  Fergus  and  Ronald  were  obliged  to 
take  turns  with  Placide  Chauvin  in  superintending  the 
work,  and  each  became  a  law  unto  himself  as  regarded 
his  daily  life. 

Coming  in  one  evening  for  a  bite  of  supper,  Ronald 
found  Catherine  in  the  pantry  making  sandwiches. 
For  a  full  minute  he  stood  in  the  doorway  gazing  at  her 
before  he  voiced  his  astonishment. 

"  Of  all  things !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Catherine  Maine 
making  sandwiches.  Where  did  you  learn  how?  " 

"  Marcelline  taught  me,"  she  replied,  with  manifest 
pleasure.  "  Come  and  have  some." 

Dropping  into  a  chair  at  the  end  of  the  table,  he 
helped  himself. 

265 


266  THE  GRINDING 

"  Tired?  "  she  asked,  glancing  at  him  as  she  spoke. 
His  athletic  form  was  relaxed  in  an  attitude  of  weari- 
ness. The  candle  light  shining  on  his  blond  hair 
showed  the  ripples  that  he  detested,  and  the  strong, 
firm  mouth  grown  stern  in  the  past  months,  but  show- 
ing humor  and  sweetness  in  certain  lines. 

"  It's  ridiculous,"  he  answered  her  question,  "  but  I 
am  tired.  You  know,  I've  always  been  something  of 
a  sleepy-head,  and  as  yet  I  have  not  quite  adjusted 
myself  to  these  three-hour  watches.  I  don't  see  how 
Fergus  stands  them." 

"  He  says  you  insisted  on  taking  the  hardest  watch. 
That  it's  ten  times  as  hard  to  go  to  bed  right  after 
supper  and  get  up  at  midnight  as  it  is  to  sit  up  late  and 
then  sleep  in  the  morning." 

"  I  suppose  it's  all  a  matter  of  habit,"  he  replied. 
"  Those  are  good  sandwiches,  Catherine.  Are  you 
making  them  for  your  supper?  " 

"  For  our  supper,  and  I'm  going  to  send  some  over 
to  the  sugar  house  for  Fergus."  Delighted  to  find  him 
astonished  at  her  efficiency,  she  began  setting  one  end 
of  the  table,  moving  back  and  forth  between  the  ice 
box,  the  wire  safe,  and  the  table;  placing  cold  meat,  a 
pitcher  of  creamy  milk,  and  a  plate  of  sandwiches  be- 
fore him. 

He  watched  her,  moving  about,  and  presently  asked: 
"  Do  you  remember  that  picture  in  the  Louvre  of  the 
angels  in  the  kitchen?  " 

"  No,"  she  replied,  pausing  knife  in  hand  prepara- 
tory to  cutting  more  bread.  "  Who  was  the  artist?  " 


THE  GRINDING  267 

"I  don't  remember.  The  picture  hangs  either 
among  the  Primitive  Italians,  or  in  the  Grande  Gal- 
trie.  It's  a  funny  old  thing  of  angels  doing  kitchen 
work:  sweeping,  washing  dishes,  and  all  that.  You 
reminded  me  of  it,  floating  around  that  way  with  the 
pitcher  of  milk  in  your  hands." 

"  I've  learned  to  do  a  lot  of  things,"  she  observed 
with  pride;  "  I'm  learning  to  cook.  I  can  make 
dripped  coffee,  and  jambalaya,  and  corn  pone,  and  pain 
perdu,  and  lots  of  things." 

"  Have  you  learned  to  make  corn  meal  mush  and 
sassafras  tea?  "  he  asked.  "  Those  are  the  stand-bys 
of  the  natives  out  here." 

She  looked  questioningly  at  him.  What  did  he  mean 
by  his  observation  in  regard  to  the  natives?  Did  he 
mean  to  insinuate  that  she  was  going  to  cast  in  her 
lot  with  them?  And  as  she  stood  looking  at  him,  he 
raised  his  eyes.  As  if  for  the  first  time,  he  was  struck 
by  the  clear  pallor  of  her  face  from  which  her  dark 
hair  swept  back  in  a  waving  mass.  Age  would  not  dim 
her  beauty,  he  thought.  Her  hair,  when  gray,  would 
bring  into  still  greater  splendor  the  dark  eyes  with 
their  slender  brows,  and  the  purity  of  her  clear-cut 
features.  For  a  moment,  the  two  looked  at  each  other, 
both  thinking  of  their  last  interview  in  the  city.  Then 
her  eyes  fell  and  she  resumed  her  work. 

"  Why  didn't  you  let  Chauvin  take  that  hard 
watch?  "  she  asked. 

"  He's  an  older  man  than  I,  and  probably  not  as 
strong.  He's  never  had  the  advantage  of  golf  and 


268  THE  GRINDING 

football  and  rowing.  If  there's  any  merit  in  system- 
atic exercise,  I  ought  to  be  able  to  carry  the  heaviest 
load." 

"  Is  the  sap  testing  well?  "  she  asked. 

"  No.  The  sucrose  doesn't  test  as  it  should.  The 
weather's  too  hot." 

"  Then  why  in  the  world  don't  they  wait  for  cooler 
weather?  If  they  need  frost,  why  don't  they  wait 
for  it?  " 

"  They  dare  not.  Sometimes  there  isn't  frost  all 
winter  long." 

"  Oh,  but  that's  so  unusual.  It's  like  carrying  a 
lightning-rod  so  as  not  to  be  hit  in  a  thunder-storm." 

He  laughed.  "  I'm  afraid  the  device  would  fail," 
he  observed.  "  But  you  know  the  cane  is  a  forced 
crop  here  and  experience  has  taught  the  planters  that 
it's  safest  not  to  wait,  for  fear  of  a  freeze  catching 
them." 

"  They're  the  stupidest  lot!  "  she  commented. 
"  Hard-headed  as  blind  mules,  all  of  them." 

"  Not  all,"  he  corrected  her.  "  Not  Placide.  I  con- 
fess he  doesn't  scintillate  in  conversation,  but,  for  a 
man  who  has  never  seen  anything  outside  of  his  native 
parish,  he's  surprisingly  intelligent.  Can  you  imag- 
ine living  to  his  age  without  ever  being  on  a  railroad, 
or  seeing  a  street  car,  or  a  building  more  than  two 
stories  high?  I've  half  a  mind  to  take  him  with  me 
after  the  grinding." 

"  Are  you  going  to  take  a  vacation?  "  she  asked 
with  apparent  indifference,  but  in  reality  with  a  feeling 


THE  GRINDING  269 

of  apprehension.  She  shrank  from  the  loneliness  of 
Esperance  if  he  or  Fergus  should  go  away  even  for  a 
short  time. 

"  Not  a  vacation  in  the  sense  of  a  rest.  I'm  going 
on  business." 

She  wished  he  would  say  more,  but  he  ate  his  supper 
in  silence  as  if  buried  in  thought.  Why  need  he  be  so 
secretive?  Why  couldn't  he  trust  her  and  tell  her 
something  of  his  affairs?  Surely  he  must  know  she 
was  starving  for  news;  for  a  change  of  any  sort.  But, 
repressing  as  best  she  could  her  impatience,  she  merely 
said,  "  It  will  be  nice  to  have  a  change." 

"  That  depends  on  what  the  change  may  be." 

"  Oh,  any  change." 

"  There  are  worse  places  in  the  world  than  Esper- 
ance," he  observed.  "  I  don't  believe  in  '  flying  from 
the  ills  I  have  to  others  that  I  know  not  of.' ' 

"  I  never  realized  how  I  loved  to  travel  until  my 
chances  were  all  past,"  she  said. 

"  I  hope  your  chances  will  come  again,"  he  replied 
in  his  deep,  pleasant  voice. 

"  Do  you  believe  it,  or  just  hope  it?  " 

"  I  hope  and  believe  it,"  he  answered;  "  that  is,  if 
my  trip  is  successful." 

"  It  concerns  us  all,  then?  " 

"  Part  of  it  does.  I  shouldn't  think  of  going  off 
junketing  until  there  was  some  relief  out  here.  Then, 
perhaps  — " 

"  Then  we'll  all  go?  "  she  finished  his  sentence. 

"  Yes,  we'll  all  go  —  if  we  wish." 


270  THE  GRINDING 

"  We  do  '  wish,'  "  she  declared.  "  So  why  can't 
we?" 

"  Because  we  can't  afford  it." 

"  But  you  can?  " 

Raising  his  eyes  again,  he  met  her  questioning  look. 
"  A  part  of  my  errand  concerns  me  personally,"  he  re- 
plied, "  although  I  don't  mean  to  make  a  mystery  of  it. 
As  regards  your  share,  I  didn't  wish  to  tell  you  be- 
cause I  feared  you  would  oppose  it." 

"  And  yet  you  were  going  to  do  it?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Does  Fergus  know?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  And  approve?  " 

"  Of  course.     Otherwise,  I  should  not  plan  to  do  it." 

"  Don't  the  affairs  of  this  plantation  concern  me? 
And  haven't  I  a  right  to  know  what's  going  on  as  well 
as  you  and  Fergus?  Or  are  you  so  convinced  of  the 
heaven-ordained  incapacity  of  woman  that  you  think 
I  must,  permanently,  be  treated  as  a  child?  " 

"  I  didn't  wish  to  tell  you,"  he  replied  in  a  reluctant 
tone,  "  because  we  feel  compelled  to  investigate  some- 
thing in  regard  to  Marc  Sutton  —  and  I  feared  you 
would  blindly  champion  him." 

"  And  yet  you  were  planning  to  do  it!  "  Her  tone 
was  cutting. 

"  For  your  good;  yes." 

"  Don't  you  think  it  would  be  more  sensible  —  and 
more  honorable  —  to  let  me  have  a  voice  in  your  pro- 
jects to  benefit  me?  " 


THE  GRINDING  271 

"  I  knew  you'd  take  that  tone,  Catherine,"  he  said, 
"and  as  it  is  a  matter  of  business  that  seemed  to 
Fergus  and  me  to  be  imperatively  necessary,  we 
decided  not  to  let  your  prejudice  in  his  favor  work  you 
harm." 

"  We  decided.  Did  you  or  Fergus  first  discover  the 
delinquency  of  Marc  Sutton?  " 

"  I  did." 

She  laughed  slightly,  and  he  reddened.  "  Make  a 
pet  of  him  if  you  wish,"  he  said.  "  I'm  not  going  to 
let  him  ruin  Esperance  if  I  can  help  it." 

"  Why  do  you  accuse  me  —  or  at  least  imply  —  that 
I '  make  a  pet '  of  him?  What  have  I  done  to  warrant 
such  an  insult?  " 

"  Have  you  forgotten  how  fiercely  you  championed 
him  the  evening  he  took  supper  here?  And  can't  you 
see  what  a  devoted  friend  he  has  proved  himself,  after 
all  his  protestations?  He  has  been  out  in  the  country 
again  and  again  and  has  never  come  near  you.  He  no 
longer  needs  you.  You  may  be  right  in  considering 
him  an  evangelist  and  an  anchorite  — " 

"  I  don't  think  he  need  be  either  an  evangelist  or  an 
anchorite  to  be  ordinarily  trustworthy,"  she  inter- 
rupted. 

"  Neither  do  I,"  said  Ronald.  "  But  the  difference 
between  you  and  me  is  that  I  don't  consider  him  any 
one  of  the  three.  I  do  wish,  for  your  own  sake,  you 
could  be  made  to  see  — " 

"  I  do  see  he  is  very  intimate  at  Gold  Mine,"  she 
interjected,  "  and  that  you  are  jealous," 


272  THE  GRINDING 

"  Don't  be  unjust,  Catherine,"  he  urged,  still  trying 
to  control  his  temper.  "  You  championed  him  — " 

"  When  you  championed  the  Blaises,"  she  again  in- 
terrupted. "  I  have  had  plenty  of  solitude  in  which 
to  think  over  the  situation." 

"  I  never  championed  them  beyond  saying  that  you 
were  needlessly  scornful  toward  Modesta." 

"  Of  course,"  she  replied,  "  I  was  in  the  wrong. 
You  thought  she  would  be  such  a  delightful  companion 
for  me.  So  '  lovely  '  and  all  that." 

"  I  thought  it  imprudent  to  insult  our  influential 
neighbors.  But  I  don't  see  what  that  has  to  do  with 
Marc  Sutton." 

"  Don't  you?  Then  I'll  tell  you.  Because  of  his 
intimacy  at  Gold  Mine,  you  became  jealous  and  exag- 
gerated my  interest  in  him." 

"  As  you  did  mine  in  Modesta  Blaise." 

"  Perhaps  I  did;  but  you  have  such  a  lovery  way 
when  you  are  talking  with  girls  that,  naturally,  we  — '; 

"  '  We  '!  "  he  interrupted.  "  Who  are  '  we  '?  I'm 
sure  Fergus  never  said  such  a  thing.  You  may  have 
thought  it  —  but  I'd  be  ashamed  to  think  I  had  a 
'  lovery '  way.  You  might  just  as  well  call  me  a  dis- 
gusting fool  as  to  say  — "  He  stopped  in  speechless  in- 
dignation. "  Why,  Catherine,"  he  resumed  sternly, 
"  how  can  you  be  so  unreasonable?  " 

"  '  Unreasonable  '!  "  she  repeated.  "  Was  it  unrea- 
sonable to  see  how  you  took  up  for  her  that  night  at 
our  '  cunning  little  sugar  house  '?  And  at  that  awful 
party  they  gave — "  She  was  on  the  point  of  telling 


THE  GRINDING  273 

what  she  heard  Modesta  say  about  him  in  the  conserva- 
tory, but  checked  herself. 

"  Oh,  yes/'  he  broke  in  stormily,  "  the  time  you 
were  flirting  with  Tom  on  the  side  gallery.  I  remem- 
ber—" 

"  And  the  day  she  called  here,"  Catherine  went  on, 
"  you  fairly  had  your  arm  around  her  pony's  neck,  you 
were  so  crazy  about  her." 

"Catherine  Maine!  "  he  ejaculated.  "You  might 
as  well  call  me  — " 

"Now!  Now!  Now!  "  she  interrupted.  "I'm  not 
calling  you  anything.  I'm  only  saying  you  were  per- 
fectly bewitched  with  that  girl  from  the  very  first 
moment  you  saw  her.  You  said  she  was  lovely  that 
day  she  stopped  to  insult  me  at  the  gate." 

"  When  did  she  ever  insult  you?  " 

"  Every  time  she  had  a  chance." 

"  I  never  saw  her  insult  you.  You  certainly  made 
her  bite  the  dust." 

"Oh,  yes;  I  was  in  the  wrong.  Always!  You  may 
think  her  perfectly  heavenly  if  you  like,  but  I  don't 
care  to  lower  myself  — " 

"  No,"  he  agreed  sarcastically,  for  he  was  now  as 
angry  as  she,  although  his  tone  remained  steady,  "  You 
wouldn't  lower  yourself  for  the  world." 

"  You've  a  perfect  right  to  be  as  flirtatious  as  you 
like,"  she  continued.  "  By  all  means,  marry  the  girl; 
it's  no  business  of  mine." 

"Flirtatious!"  he  repeated.  "Look  out  for  the 
windows  in  your  own  house,  Catherine.  What  do  you 


274  THE  GRINDING 

think  of  yourself  —  trifling  equally  with  a  poor,  ignor- 
ant fisherman  or  a  hardened  roue?  It's  all  the  same  to 
you;  just  another  scalp  at  your  belt.  I  don't  blame 
Tom  Ogers  for  saying  you  led  him  on.  I  thought  — " 

"Of  course!  Of  course!  "  she  flung  back,  "you'd 
have  thought  I  was  flirting  with  old  Monsieur  Poisson 
if  I'd  ever  spoken  to  him.  I  suppose  you  think  I'm 
secretly  leading  Placide  Chauvin  on.  And  you  were 
off  with  Miss  Blaise  when  you  forgot  about  our  birth- 
day supper." 

"  Forgot!  "  he  exclaimed.  "  I  didn't  do  anything  of 
the  sort." 

"  Then  that's  all  the  worse,  if  you  deliberately  went 
off  and  didn't  care  enough  to  come."  She  had  never 
meant  to  speak  of  that  again,  but  now  in  her  wrath  she 
had  inadvertently  referred  to  it. 

"  I  did  care,"  he  said,  rising  and  looking  sternly 
down  at  her.  "  I  couldn't  help  being  late,  the  auto- 
mobile skidded  so." 

"  Well,  you  knew  it  would  skid  when  you  started. 
It  was  raining,  and  yet  you  couldn't  deny  yourself 
the  pleasure  of  a  ride.  It  seemed  so  childish  of  you 
to  be  so  crazy  for  a  ride." 

He  made  an  impatient  gesture.  "  If  that  isn't  just 
like  a  woman!  "  he  exclaimed.  "  To  prove  that  I  am 
flirtatious,  you  say  I'm  childishly  crazy  for  a  ride. 
I'll  tell  you  what  I  tried  to  explain  the  morning  after 
our  birthday." 

"  I  haven't  the  slightest  interest  in  your  reasons  for 
going  riding  with  Miss  Blaise." 


THE  GRINDING  275 

"  I  am  well  aware  of  that,"  he  replied.  "  You  have 
not  left  me  in  ignorance  as  to  your  sentiments  in  re- 
gard to  me,  but  before  we  part,  I  am  going  to  set  myself 
right  in  this  one  particular.  I  went  to  Bergerac  to 
get  you  a  birthday  present." 

"Oh,  Ronald!  "  she  ejaculated,  softening  instantly 
and  regretting  what  she  had  said.  "  You  ought  not 
to  have  tried  to  get  me  anything." 

"  I  did  get  it,"  he  replied. 

"  What  is  it?  "  she  demanded  eagerly. 

"  Do  you  remember  that  round,  antique  mirror  that 
used  to  hang  over  your  desk?  Do  you  remember,  it 
was  convex  and  framed  so  quaintly?  " 

"  Remember  it!  "  she  exclaimed,  and  there  rose  be- 
fore her  mental  vision  a  vast,  luxurious  room  and  the 
reflection  of  her  own  figure  crowned  and  sceptred  as 
she  saw  it  the  night  Fergus  told  her  of  the  impending 
failure. 

"  George  Burbank  bought  that  mirror  in  an  antique 
shop  on  Royal  street,"  Ronald  explained,  "  and  May 
recognized  it.  She  knew  you  prized  it  and  he  wrote 
offering  it  to  me.  They  were  afraid  to  write  directly 
to  you  for  fear  of  calling  up  painful  memories." 

"  And  you've  had  it  all  this  time,"  she  said  slowly. 

"  No,"  he  confessed  with  evident  embarrassment, 
"  I  haven't  it." 

"Ronald  North!"  she  cried,  passionately,  "you 
didn't  give  my  mirror  to  that  girl?  " 

The  question  was  an  accusation,  and  in  his  indigna- 
tion at  her  suspecting  him  of  such  a  possibility,  he 


276  THE  GRINDING 

would  not  clear  himself  and  confess  what  had  really 
happened,  viz.,  that  in  his  anger  at  her  refusing  to 
hear  his  explanation,  he  recklessly  threw  her  beautiful, 
valued,  mirror  into  the  bayou.  The  truth  was  bad 
enough.  He  could  not  brook  her  suspicions. 

"  I'm  glad  I  didn't  give  you  the  handkerchiefs  I 
made  for  your  birthday,"  she  declared. 

"  You  made  me  handkerchiefs?  "  he  asked,  relent- 
ing, and  ready  now  to  explain. 

But  she  answered  with  studied  insolence,  "  Oh,  yes, 
I  made  you  some,  but  I  changed  my  mind  about  giving 
them  to  you" 

"  To  me,"  he  repeated,  misunderstanding,  as  she  had 
meant  he  should.  "  Have  you  given  them  to  any- 
one? " 

"  Perhaps." 

"  May  I  ask  to  whom?  " 

"  Perhaps  to  Tom  Ogers,  and  perhaps  to  Jacques 
Lirette."  She  half  regretted  her  words  as  soon  as  they 
were  spoken,  but  the  thought  of  her  mirror  in  the  pos- 
session of  Modesta  Blaise  had  goaded  her  beyond  all 
bounds  of  prudence. 

"  Catherine,"  he  said,  and  his  voice  was  deep  and 
steady,  "  you  have  brought  me  to  a  decision." 

The  door  opened,  and  Ananias  entered.  With  trem- 
bing  hands,  Catherine  wrapped  the  sandwiches  and 
placed  them  in  the  basket,  while  Ronald  stood  waiting 
as  inexorable  as  fate.  Outside,  the  garden  lay  bathed 
in  the  peaceful  moonlight,  and  the  lights  of  the  sugar 


THE  GRINDING  277 

house,  reflected  in  long,  rippling  threads  across  the 
surface  of  the  bayou  gave  a  fantastic  semblance  of 
stage  scenery.  The  voices  of  men  and  women  piling 
cane  on  to  the  carrier  in  the  cane  shed  came  through 
the  still  air,  now  singly,  now  in  chorus.  They  were 
singing  a  wild,  improvised  fugue  in  which  a  piercing 
treble  was  answered  by  a  deep,  musical  bass. 

"  Move,  Danuel,  move,"  shrilled  the  treble. 

"  Move,  Danuel,  move,"  responded  the  bass;  "  move 
to  the  other  shore." 

A  high,  passionate  falsetto  exhorted:  "Lay  your 
burdens  down,  Danuel." 

"  Burdens,  burdens,"  boomed  the  bass,  and  in  a 
great  flood  of  harmony:  "  Move  to  the  other  shore." 

Ananias  went  out,  leaving  the  door  open  and  Ronald, 
his  face  marble-white,  said,  "  I  see  my  coming  to 
Esperance  was  a  mistake.  You  have  misunderstood 
my  motives.  We  need  never  reopen  this  subject." 
He  paused,  pressing  his  lips  firmly  together  as  if  they 
might  betray  his  agitation,  then  added,  "  When  the 
grinding  is  ended,  I  shall  go,  and  unless  you  ask  me 
to  do  so,  I  will  never  come  back." 

"  '  Ask  '  you?  "  she  repeated.  "  Ask  you!  I'd  die 
first,"  and  turning,  she  left  him. 

"  What  am  I  waiting  for?  "  she  questioned  herself; 
"staying  on  and  on  at  Esperance.  Every  day  like 
every  other  day,  just  dragging  me  toward  my  grave." 
As  in  a  lightning  flash  she  saw  the  life  that  Tom  was 
offering  her.  With  his  wealth  and  influence,  he  could 


278  THE  GRINDING 

give  her  everything.    Why  should  she  not  accept  it? 
What  was  holding  her  back?     A  sense  of  duty? 

In  the  thick  darkness  of  her  room  she  stood  think- 
ing. 


XXIX 

/CATHERINE  was  destroying  old  letters;  tearing 
V^  them  in  pieces  and  throwing  them  back  of  the 
ornamental  board  front  which  closed  the  empty  fire- 
place during  the  eight  months  of  summer.  There  were 
notes,  invitations,  disconnected  reminders  of  her 
former  life  —  how  long  ago  it  all  seemed !  Here  was 
one  from  Marc  Sutton  beginning,  "  My  queen!  " 
She  tossed  it  away  with  the  others,  and  just  then  a 
warm  breath  from  the  window  stirred  the  mass  as  with 
a  sigh  of  regret. 

Turning,  she  drew  down  the  sash  and  as  she  did  so, 
her  eyes  fell  on  a  withered  vine  at  the  foot  of  a  tree 
near-by;  the  beautiful,  wild  vine  Jacques  Lirette 
brought  the  day  she  went  to  Bergerac.  How  disap- 
pointed and  mortified  he  must  have  been  to  find  her 
absent  and  to  be  confronted  by  —  whom?  She  did  not 
know.  She  could  only  conjecture.  Poor  boy!  She 
would  explain,  the  next  time  she  saw  him,  that  she  had 
tried  to  save  the  plant  and  was  sorry  it  died. 

A  knock  at  the  open  door  roused  her  from  her 
thoughts  and  Marcelline's  voice  inquired :  "  Does  you 
want  Pidgeon  to  thrash  the  pecan  trees?  'Taint  no 
use  waitin'  fer  frost." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  Catherine  answered  eagerly,  snatching 

279 


280  THE  GRINDING 

up  her  garden  hat  and  following  into  the  side  yard 
where  she  found  Pidgeon  already  scrambling  around 
among  the  branches  and  reaching  out  with  a  long  pole 
to  touch  the  outermost  twigs.  Marcelline,  standing 
below,  observed  him  with  a  warning  exclamation  of 
"  Watch  out!  You  has  to  be  mighty  keerless  when  you 
is  tryin'  to  play  squirr'l."  Grumblingly,  she  picked 
up  the  nuts  as  they  fell  and  tossed  them  into  a  basket, 
saying  as  she  did  so.  "  'Tain't  scurcely  wuth  the 
trouble  er  thrashin'  the  trees  this  year.  Anyhow,  this 
ain't  no  good  year  for  nothin'.  The  cane  ain't  yield- 
in'  like  it  ought,  the  hens  ain't  layin',  the  calves  is  all 
bulls,  an'  the  puccons  ain't  wuth  pickin'  up." 

"  There  ought  to  be  good  pecans  in  this  part  of  the 
country,"  said  Catherine,  gazing  anxiously  up  at  Pid- 
geon. 

"  Shore,  they  is  good  puccons  in  these  parts,"  Mar- 
celline replied,  taking  two  of  the  nuts  and  cracking 
them  in  the  palm  of  her  hand.  "  Down  to  Malabar 
they  was  trees  had  nuts  bigger 'n  my  thumb.  I  reckon 
the  high  water  kilt  them.  Tha's  where  M'sieur  £var- 
iste  Ledoux  got  his  trees;  right  thar  to  Malabar  —  an' 
every  one  know  what  fine  puccons  he  use'  to  have." 

"  Monsieur  £variste  Ledoux!  "  Catherine  repeated. 
"  Who  is  Monsieur  fivariste  Ledoux?  I've  heard  the 
name,  but  I  can't  remember  where." 

"  He  live  up  the  bayou,  a  good  piece  above  Bergerac. 
while  his  paw  was  livin,'  they  use'  to  live  to  Beau- 
Rivage,  down  by  Malabar.  Hit  got  kinder  ruinted, 
time  er  the  big  storm  a  few  years  back.  Sence  then, 


THE  GRINDING  281 

they  has  raised  sheeps  on  them  salt  marshes,  but  I 
reckon  all  the  sheeps  got  drownded,  time  er  the  high 
water.  M'sieur  Evariste  got  kinder  disheartened,  'case 
his  paw  die,  and  Miss  Hortense  wouldn't  marry  him, 
so  he  an'  his  maw  went  up  to  Garlenda  to  live." 

"  He  wanted  to  marry  Miss  Hortense?  "  Catherine 
asked. 

"  He  shore  did,  an'  he  stood  her  friend  when  nobody 
ain't  believe  her  tale,  an'  he  want  to  marry  her,  spite 
of  everything.  He  war  the  onliest  one  what  always 
stand  by  her." 

"  I  thought  her  brother  did." 

"  Yas'm,  he  kinder  did.  He  wouldn't  let  the  young 
Madam  turn  her  out  of  doors.  But  you  know  how 
it  are,  Miss  Catrine.  When  there's  trouble,  some 
folks  walks  a  mile  the  other  way  —  an'  he  shore  did 
stay  a  heap  of  time  in  the  fiel's.  But  M'sieur  Evar- 
iste  always  stan'  by  her,  an'  he  want  to  take  the  li'l 
gal  when  Miss  Hortense  die  —  but  his  maw  were  a 
turr'ble  crabbish  ole  lady,  an'  she  were  dead  agin  her. 
Dead  sot.  She  wouldn't  listen  to  no  good  talk  'bout 
Miss  Hortense,  ner  she  wouldn't  so  much  as  listen  to 
her  name.  No  Ma'am!  " 

"  Whom  did  he  marry?  "  Catherine  asked. 

"  Him?  He  nuver  marry  no  one.  No,  Ma'am;  not 
him!  He  live  up  yonder  with  his  maw,  twel  she  die, 
not  so  long  ago,  neither.  She  suttingly  driv'  him  with 
a  stiff  bit.  But  he  ain't  say  nothin'.  She  were  a 
kinder  miser-fied  ole  lady,  an'  she  kep'  the  money  in 
her  own  hand,  an'  she  buy  Belle  Alliance  an'  Holley 


282  THE  GRINDING 

Glen,  an'  I  reckon  she'd  have  own'  all  the  land  'twix 
Garlenda  an'  the  Gulf  effen  the  Lord  hadn't  a  remem- 
ber her  all  of  a  suddint  an'  snatch  her  away  'fore  she 
could  do  any  more  mischief." 

"  Who  is  it  they  call  his  daughter?  "  Catherine 
asked. 

Marcelline  stopped  in  her  search  for  pecans  and 
looked  inquiringly  at  her  Mistress.  "  I  ain't  nuver 
year  talk  'bout  no  darter,"  she  said,  "  ner  I  don't  be- 
lieve he've  got  one,  neither." 

"  Was  he  Felicie  Trosclair's  godfather?  "  Catherine 
asked. 

"  I  reckon  he  must  er  ben,"  Marcelline  replied,  look- 
ing surprised. 

"  Yes,  Ma'am,  he  were,"  Pidgeon  piped  down  from 
the  tree. 

"  Sure,  he  must  er  ben,"  Marcelline  repeated,  but, 
not  being  deeply  interested  in  the  subject,  she  said  no 
more  and  withdrew  shortly  to  the  kitchen. 

Pidgeon  came  down  from  the  tree,  but  Catherine 
was  still  picking  up  pecans  when  Fergus  and  Ronald 
appeared  at  the  gate,  talking  earnestly.  They  walked 
slowly,  so  absorbed  that,  at  first,  they  did  not  notice 
her  and  she  suspected  rightly  that  they  were  discuss- 
ing something  not  meant  for  her  ears. 

"  I  have  distrusted  Sutton  for  a  long  time,"  Ronald 
was  saying,  "  and  I  think  I  have  proof  now  that  he 
was  the  one  who  suggested  the  scheme." 

"  You  may  be  wrong,"  Fergus  remonstrated  gently. 
"  Don't  decide  against  him  until  you  have  made  fur- 


THE  GRINDING  283 

ther  investigation.    Besides,  it  may  be  true  that  the  gas 
pocket  is  on  the  Gold  Mine  side  of  the  line." 

"  No,  Fergus,  it  isn't.  It's  just  a  scheme  to  rob 
Esperance  of  what  may  be  its  most  valuable  asset." 

'The  most  valuable  asset  is  the  crop,  Ronald. 
Drilling  in  this  sandy  soil  is  too  uncertain  and  too 
costly  for  us  to  consider.  But  the  crop  is  something 
that  affects  the  whole  community.  The  pocket  might 
enrich  us  —  if  we  neglected  the  crop,  we  should  be 
doing  wrong  to  all  this  part  of  the  parish." 

"  You're  like  Louis  XII,"  Ronald  said,  smiling. 

"  How  so?  " 

"  A  true  Father  of  the  People.  Don't  you  remem- 
ber, he  said  he'd  rather  his  people  should  have  plenty 
of  silver  in  their  pockets  than  that  he  should  have  some 
gold?  I  think  it  was  Louis  XII,  wasn't  it?  " 

"  I  don't  remember;  but  about  that  position  Bur- 
bank  mentioned.  What  is  your  objection  to  it?  " 

"  It  will  bring  me  into  contact  with  Banks.  In 
fact,  I  should  be  placed  over  him,  and  I  should  be 
forced  to  discharge  him.  He'd  think  I  was  doing  it 
out  of  spite  —  and  I  hate  to  be  put  in  such  a  position; 
but  I  know  that's  cowardly  of  me.  Burbank  says 
they'll  wait  two  or  three  weeks  for  my  decision." 

"  You've  practically  made  it,  haven't  you?  " 

"  Yes.  I  hate  to  leave  before  your  relations  with 
Blaise  are  more  settled.  There's  no  doubt  he  has  been 
deeply  hurt  by  Catherine's  attitude  toward  Modesta. 
I  think  he  hoped  great  things  in  a  social  way  from 
their  becoming  intimate.  The  girl's  pretty  and  at- 


284  THE  GRINDING 

tractive  enough,  and,  naturally,  he's  inordinately  proud 
of  her  —  his  only  child." 

"  Naturally.  I'm  sorry  Catherine  is  so  prejudiced 
against  her." 

"  It's  lamentable!  "  Ronald  declared.  At  this  mo- 
ment, he  noticed  Catherine  standing  under  the  pecan 
tree,  and,  as  always  in  catching  an  unexpected  glimpse 
of  her,  was  struck  by  her  charm.  It  smote  him  with 
a  pang.  "  I  love  her  yet,"  he  thought,  and  scorned 
himself  for  his  weakness. 

From  the  branches  of  the  tree  hung  long  festoons 
of  moss  through  which  the  sunlight  filtered  upon  her, 
dappling  her  with  light  and  shadow.  As  aloof  as  a 
wood  nymph,  she  moved  about,  her  face  turned  from 
them.  He  wondered  if  she  would  move  through  life, 
this  way;  solitary  and  apart  from  her  fellow  beings. 
What  loneliness  she  was  preparing  for  herself!  She, 
who  loved  no  one  in  the  world  but  Fergus  —  her  un- 
practical, visionary  brother.  Yes.  Ronald  saw  it 
clearly.  He,  the  despised  Ronald,  must  for  their 
sakes,  leave  them  and  accept  that  position  where  he 
could  provide  for  them.  He  must  let  them  believe 
that  he  was  deserting  them  after  all  these  years  of 
companionship.  It  was  the  only  way  to  save  Esper- 
ance  from  failure  —  as  fail  it  must,  unless  some  one 
performed  a  miracle  in  iheir  behalf. 

"  Fergus,"  Catherine  said,  coming  toward  them  bas- 
ket in  hand,  "  see  how  few  pecans  there  were  on  that 
tree.  Haven't  they  a  tree  over  at  the  Chauvins'?  " 

Ronald  was  on  the  point  of  saying  that  there  were 


THE  GRINDING  285 

several.  That  the  tree  shading  the  side  gate  was  a 
pecan,  but,  as  she  had  not  glanced  at  him,  he  re- 
frained from  speaking.  She,  for  her  part,  looked 
steadily  at  Fergus  as  if  Ronald  were  not  present. 
He  had  said  he  did  not  wish  to  reopen  the  conversa- 
tion. Very  well;  he  need  not.  So  far  as  she  was  con- 
cerned, he  no  longer  existed. 

"  I  think  they  have  one,"  Fergus  hazarded. 

"  Isn't  that  one  by  the  gate  a  pecan?  " 

"  I  think  it  is." 

She  walked  up  the  steps,  her  hand  slipped  through 
Fergus's  arm,  while  Ronald  followed  in  silence. 

"  I'm  going  over  to  Miss  Victorine's,"  she  said, 
"  when  you  go  back  to  the  sugar  house.  I  want  to  have 
a  barrel  of  pecans.  We  always  used  to  have  a  barrel- 
ful  in  our  store  room  in  the  city,  didn't  we?  " 

"  I  believe  we  did,"  Fergus  agreed. 

"  Very  well.  It's  ridiculous  not  to  have  them  out 
here  where  they  grow." 

"  Certainly,  you  must  have  them,"  Fergus  reiter- 
ated. "  But  shan't  I  see  about  it  for  you?  " 

"  No,  I  want  the  walk,"  and  she  went  singing  to 
her  room,  not  having  vouchsafed  Ronald  one  glance. 

As  she'  walked  with  Fergus  towards  Miss  Victorine's, 
she  no  longer  felt  so  proud  of  herself  for  wounding 
Ronald.  After  all,  he  had  had  provocation,  and  she 
was  too  much  of  a -coquette  to  wish  any  act  to  be 
final.  Possibly,  he  might  not  "  come  back  "  even  if 
she  did  "  ask  him,"  she  reflected. 

Miss  Victorine  emerged  from  the  hen  house  as  Cath- 


286  THE  GRINDING 

erine  entered  the  gate,  and  pausing  only  to  lock  the 
door  —  which  she  would  not  have  forgotten  to  do  even 
though  the  earth  yawned  to  swallow  her  —  the  old 
lady  hastened  to  meet  the  mistress  of  Esperance. 
Very,  very  willingly,  she  assured  Catherine,  they  would 
supply  her  with  as  many  pecans  as  she  wished.  What 
was  theirs  was  hers,  the  old  lady  assured  her,  speak- 
ing in  parables  as  it  were.  Catherine,  on  the  other 
hand,  fully  believed  that  what  was  theirs  was  hers, 
and  accepted  the  assurances  without  too  exaggerated 
a  gratitude.  Several  times,  she  noticed  that  the  old 
lady  was  gazing  searchingly  at  her  —  but  she  was  ac- 
customed to  receiving  more  than  a  passing  glance  and 
did  not  attach  importance  to  Miss  Victorine's  look. 

"  And,"  the  old  lady  added,  "  my  Placide  will  bring 
you  some  good  ones  —  but  admirable,  magnificent 
ones;  paper  shells  —  from  Belize  when  he  go  up  yon- 
der to  visit  his  pretended:  Celimene  LeBreton." 

"  Celimene  LeBreton!  "  Catherine  exclaimed,  gen- 
uinely surprised  by  the  news.  "  I  congratulate  you, 
Miss  Victorine." 

"  I  'ave  the  honor  to  announce  it,"  Miss  Victorine 
said  solemnly.  "  God  is  good,  Mees  Catrine.  He  see 
how  I  grieve  for  my  little  Solange  —  with  the  angels, 
it  is  now  thirty  year.  He  see  that  I  desire,  that  I 
have  need  of  a  daughter ,  and  He  send  me  Celimene, 
who  onderstand  chicken  like  no  one  on  the  bayou; 
who  cook  an'  sew,  an'  mend,  and  who  love  my  Pla- 
cide." 

Catherine   was   searching   in  her   imagination   for 


THE  GRINDING  287 

words  adequate  to  this  astonishing  situation,  when  a 
clear,  barytone  voice  was  heard,  gaily  singing,  and 
turning  they  saw  Pere  Ignace  approaching  from  the 
direction  of  Gold  Mine.  He  was  carrying  a  gun  on 
his  shoulder,  and  his  two  hounds,  Quin  and  Boulee 
(Queen  and  Bully)  were  slinking  at  his  heels. 

"  There  is  joy  to  Gole  Mine  to-night,"  he  announced 
from  a  distance. 

"  To  Gole  Mine? "  Miss  Victorine  exclaimed. 
"  'Ave  Meester  Sutton  return?  " 

"  Ah,  bah!  "  said  Pere  Ignace  lightly.  "  Where  are 
the  rose  of  last  year?  It  is  no  Meester  Sutton:  an- 
other blossom  in  his  place.  This  are  a  grand  parti. 
But  grand!  " 

"  But  'ow  could  that  be?  "  Miss  Victorine  demanded. 
"  Ef  it  are  not  Meester  Sutton:  Pierre  Poisson  are  no 
parti.  She  play  with  him  like  a  cat,  but  he  is  not  — " 

"  Ah,  la,  la!  "  Pere  Ignace  interrupted.  "  It  is  not 
for  Cajan  marriage  them  lights  twinkle  through  the 
trees,  an'  the  family  eat  their  New  Year  dinner  in 
anticipate.  But  I  tell  you  it  is  a  parti!  It  is  one  who 
reside  in  Vashington.  Who  holler  '  Allo  '  in  the  tele- 
phone every  morning  with  the  President.  Who  h-ad- 
vise  heem  an'  say,  '  Geeve  them  sugar  planter  a  tariff 
on  their  sugar,  you  hear  me,  hein?  '  An'  the  Presi- 
dent promise  what  he  demand." 

Miss  Victorine  burst  out  with  an  unexpected  tor- 
rent of  indignation.  "  That  ain't  just,  Pere  Ignace!  " 
she  exclaimed.  "  They  has  did  their  possible  against 
all  the  bayou.  An'  that  Modeste,  makin'  noses  at  all 


288  THE  GRINDING 

the  parish,  makin'  a  slave  of  our  Felicie,  laughin'  in 
the  face  of  the  bayou  —  she  will  foam  to  the  Presi- 
dent? Non!  Justice  do  not  h-exist." 

"  Have  a  care,  Mees  Victorine,"  Pere  Ignace  warned 
her.     "  Justice  do  h-exist,  even  though  we  'ave  not 
always  the  pleasure  to  see  our  enemy  in  purgatory  — 
onless  we  accompany  heem;  which  we  do  not  desire, 
hein?  " 

"  It  is  true,"  she  acknowledged.  "  We  are  not  per- 
mit to  behole  our  enemy  in  purgatory.  But  that  Mod- 
este,  that  serpent  in  the  herbs,  with  a  face  as  round  as 
the  Tower  of  Babylon  —  she  will  foam  to  the  wife  of 
the  President?  It  is  too  much!  " 

"  Have  you  heard  the  name  of  the  parti?  "  Catherine 
asked,  knowing  full  well  beforehand  what  it  must  be. 

"  Bang,"  said  Pere  Ignace.  "  No;  that  don't  sound 
right.  Bang?  Bang?  "  he  repeated  tentatively:  then, 
his  memory  coming  to  the  rescue,  "  Bank!  Bank  are 
the  name.  A  very  distinguish'  diplomate.  There  is 
so  much  joy  to  Gole  Mine,  the  'ouse  will  not  contain." 

Catherine  made  no  comment,  and  for  a  moment  all 
remained  silent.  That  the  wicked  had  been  rewarded 
seemed  so  obvious  there  was  no  explaining  it  away. 

As  Catherine,  after  saying  good-by  to  Miss  Vic- 
torine, walked  toward  the  bridge,  accompanied  by  the 
priest,  a  softened  haze  rested  on  the  fields  where  some 
laborers  were  burning  a  pile  of  trash.  In  the  gath- 
ering twilight,  the  flames  flared  and  danced  fantas- 
tically, throwing  into  high  relief  a  group  of  children 


THE  GRINDING  289 

from  the  quarters  who  were  "  playing  lady  "  on  the 
bank  of  the  bayou.  Stopping  their  game,  they  watched 
with  bright,  observant  eyes  as  the  two  approached. 

Seeing  the  little,  kinky  heads  with  horns  of 
"  wrapped  "  hair  that  gave  them  a  demoniacal  look, 
Pere  Ignace  said,  "  Good  evening,  my  children." 

As  if  drilled  to  do  so,  the  little  figures  instantly  rose 
upright,  and  the  little  heads  ducked  in  a  courtesy  as 
the  children  replied  with  the  regulation  formula  of 
"  Good  evenin',  Pere  Ignace,  Good  evenin',  white 
Miss." 

"  How  well  the  church  is  getting  on,"  Catherine  said, 
looking  up  at  the  spire.  "  If  only  you  had  Nore  Pinel 
to  help  now  with  these  repairs." 

"  Yes,"  he  agreed,  "  it  is  a  peety  he  are  not  here. 
An'  I  have  search  in  vain  among  the  paper  of  the 
parish.  I  fear  he  exist  only  in  imagination.  Some  of 
the  paper  will  interes'  you  very  much,  Mees  Catrine." 

"  Won't  you  come  to  dinner  with  us  to-morrow?  " 
she  begged,  "  and  bring  the  papers?  " 

"  With  pleasure,  yes,"  he  replied. 

"  And  you  will  invite  Miss  Delicia  for  me,  won't 
you?  "  she  added. 

"  With  your  permission,  no,"  he  said.  "  These 
paper  are  not  for  the  perusal  of  the  bayou.  An'  my 
seester  Delicia  —  she  are  good;  she  fulfil  her  vow- 
but  for  a  promise,  a  simple  promise,  she  have  a  long 
forget.  I  remind  her,  '  Thou  didst  promise  not  to 
tell,'  an'  she  ease  her  conscience  by  the  reply:  'Ah, 


290  THE  GRINDING 

bah!  why  ask  me  to  promise  for  a  trifle?  It  did  not 
importe  —  that  secret.'  And  when  the  bayou  enrage 
itself  for  what  she  have  reveal  —  I  need  not  explain, 
hein,  why  it  is  bes'  to  invite  my  seester  another  time?  " 

Catherine  smiled,  remembering  a  parish  quarrel  of 
which  she  had  heard  rumors.  "  Very  well,"  she  said. 
"  Then  I  shall  expect  you  to-morrow,  and  Miss  Delicia 
some  other  time." 

The  sunset  flamed  in  a  sky  of  burnished  copper 
against  which  the  cypress  trees  lifted  their  branches. 
A  lugger  with  a  vast  expanse  of  crimson  sail  that 
seemed  to  reflect  the  tints  of  the  setting  sun,  glided 
slowly  down  the  bayou.  A  man  standing  at  the  prow, 
raised  a  conch-shell  to  his  lips  and  blew  three  long, 
wailing  blasts.  How  well  she  remembered  the  first 
time  she  saw  that  statuesque  form.  Enveloped  in  the 
evening  glow,  the  graceful  boy  with  dark,  silken  hair, 
a  red  handkerchief  knotted  about  his  throat,  took  on 
a  look  of  fantastic  beauty.  She  half  wished  she  had 
never  known  him.  Better  to  picture  him  in  her  imag- 
ination as  this  beautiful,  elfish  being,  remote  from  her 
world,  untouched  by  her  cruel  kindness,  than  to  have 
to  reproach  herself,  as  she  should,  so  long  as  life  lasted, 
with  the  knowledge  that  she  had  wounded  the  gentlest, 
loveliest  creature  that  ever  lived.  His  face*  was  turned 
away.  She  knew  that  his  eyes  were  searching  for  her. 
Standing  perfectly  still,  scarcely  daring  to  breath  for 
fear  of  attracting  attention,  she  watched  the  boat 
sweeping  through  the  open  bridge.  It  glided  on,  grow- 
ing fainter  and  fainter,  fading  into  the  gathering  twi- 


THE  GRINDING  291 

light,  now  a  gleam  as  a  ray  touched  the  sail,  now  a 
shadow  among  the  trees,  now  a  distant  flash  of  coral 
flame.  Then  it  was  gone,  and  unknowingly,  she  had 
looked  her  last  on  Jacques  Lirette. 


XXX 

/"\N  that  same  evening,  Marc  Sutton,  in  his  luxuri- 
^^  ous  apartment  in  Washington,  was  looking  over 
certain  papers.  Everything  had  gone  well  with  him. 
Without  losing  the  confidence  of  the  sugar  planters 
who  believed  he  was  devoting  himself  to  their  inter- 
ests, he  had  managed  through  Adolphus  Banks  to  make 
friends  with  the  advocates  of  free  trade,  and  secretly 
to  identify  himself  with  them.  He  was  in  the  position 
of  a  man  who  blindfolds  the  world  and  receives  money 
in  both  hands.  Yes,  he  was  that  rarest  of  human 
beings,  a  satisfied  man.  Of  so  obscure  an  origin  that 
no  one  remembered  when  he  came  to  New  Orleans,  he 
now  considered  himself  the  most  influential  man  in  the 
city.  Furthermore,  he  had  so  involved  Tobias  Blaise 
that  he  was  practically  the  owner  of  the  richest  bits 
of  land  in  the  parish;  and  he  smiled  complacently  as 
he  drew  a  mental  sketch  of  the  central  sugar  house 
which  he  would  build  as  soon  as  he  had  leisure  to 
attend  to  it.  Of  course,  when  Banks  learned  to  what 
extent  his  prospective  father-in-law  had  become  en- 
tangled, he  would  try  to  save  something  for  himself 
from  the  wreck,  but  Marc  smiled  at  the  thought  of 
his  futile  struggles.  With  a  word  —  with  one  single 
threat  —  he  could  silence  Adolphus  Banks.  Further- 

292 


THE  GRINDING  293 

more,  should  need  arise  in  order  to  make  sure  of  the 
land,  he  would  take  Modesta  away  from  Adolphus. 
He  had  no  doubt  of  his  ability  to  do  so.  Possibly, 
however,  he  might  blindfold  that  dreamer,  Fergus 
Maine,  and  marry  Catherine.  He  thought  with  satis- 
faction of  her  presiding  over  his  establishment.  Fur- 
thermore, there  was  no  need  of  haste.  He  could  move 
at  his  leisure.  Unconsciously,  they  were  all  working 
for  him. 

One  thing  he  had  overlooked,  and  that  was  the  age- 
old  fact  that  we  cannot  see  ourselves  as  others  see  us. 
He  did  not  know  that  by  his  cupidity  and  thinly-veiled 
contempt,  he  had  given  offence  to  Tobias  Blaise,  and 
he  trusted  so  implicitly  to  the  Cajan  ignorance  and 
inability  to  see  through  his  plans  that  he  failed  to  take 
proper  precautions,  and  approached  Dr.  Bonvillain 
without  realizing  that  he  and  Blaise,  having  ties  of 
nationality  and  of  life-long  association,  would  natur- 
ally trust  each  other  rather  than  a  comparative 
stranger.  So  when  he  tried  to  breed  distrust  between 
them  because  he  feared  Bonvillain's  adverse  influence, 
he  put  them  both  on  their  guard.  Furthermore,  he 
tried  to  lead  Bonvillain  on  to  talk  by  making  him 
drunk.  There  were  certain  points  he  wished  to  learn 
in  regard  to  Blaise's  title  to  Gold  Mine,  and  he  felt 
sure  Dr.  Bonvillain  could  tell  him.  Very  willingly, 
Dr.  Bonvillain  got  drunk,  but  it  happened  that  he  be- 
came more  and  more  morose  and  taciturn  with  each 
succeeding  glass,  while  Marc,  drinking  more  than  he 
intended,  grew  benign  and  confidential. 


294  THE  GRINDING 

And  so  it  came  to  pass  that  while  Pere  Ignace  was 
telling  Catherine  and  Miss  Victorine  the  wonderful 
piece  of  bayou  gossip,  and  Marc  Button,  a  thousand 
miles  away,  was  smiling  secretly  to  himself,  Dr.  Bon- 
villain  and  Tobias  Blaise  were  talking  confidentially 
together.  They  were  on  horse  back,  having  ridden 
some  distance  down  the  bayou,  to  ensure  no  one's 
hearing. 

"What  I  looks  at  is  this,"  said  Dr.  Bonvillain. 
"  Meester  Marks  come  out  here  an'  shine  up  to  Destie, 
an'  then  he  come  to  me,  an'  ax  whether  you  is  sure 
enough  owner  of  Gole  Mine,  an'  whether  it  were  mort- 
gage' to  any  one.  You  never  show  him  no  paper, 
hein?  " 

"No;  I  tole  him  I  was  lawful  owner,  an'  that  it 
weren't  much  in  debt.  And  any  how,  wha's  it  to  him? 
Ain't  I  tole  you  she's  engage'  to  Adolphe  Bank?  " 

"  Well,  tha's  what  I'm  a-comin'  to.  Him,  Bank, 
an'  Marks  is  in  cahoot.  An'  he  don't  want  to  marry 
Destie  lessen  they  is  sure  about  the  property." 

This  frank  statement  was  displeasing  to  Blaise's 
fatherly  pride,  and  he  answered  in  a  surly  tone,  "  I 
reckon  he'd  marry  Destie  without  no  plantation.  You 
talk  like  she  wa'n't  good  enough  fer  him  or  any  other 
man." 

"  Tobias,"  said  Bonvillain,  "  I  ain't  sayin'  nothin' 
agin  Destie.  She's  purty  enough,  an'  she  dress  fine, 
an'  she've  got  city  ways  —  I  ain't  sayin'  nothin'  'bout 
her,  but  I  does  say  somethin'  'bout  him.  You  remem- 
ber Boggs?  " 


THE  GRINDING  295 

"  What  Boggs?  " 

"  Reginal'." 

"  Course  I  remember  Reginal'  Boggs.  He  put  up 
my  name  fer  the  St.  Francis  Club." 

"  Well,  he  come  to  Bergerac  to  visit  his  maw,  an'  I 
seen  him  when  I  went  up  yonder,  yestiddy,  an'  tha's 
why  I  come  over  here  to-day.  He  tole  me  suthin' 
about  Mr.  Marks." 

"  What  about  him?  "  Tobias  asked. 

"You  needn't  ter  get  mad  with  me,  Tobe,"  Bon- 
villain  said.  "It  ain't  my  affair.  I  ain't  no  sugar 
planter,  but  you-all  trusted  him  so  an'  send  him  up 
yonder  to  fight  fer  your  interes',  an'  what  you  reckon 
he  done?  " 

"  I  dunno,"  Tobias  growled. 

"  He  fit  agin  your  interes'.  He's  fer  free  sugar.  He 
fit  the  tariff  — " 

"  It's  a  lie!  "  Tobias  exclaimed  with  such  a  volley 
of  oaths  that  even  Dr.  Bonvillain,  inured  to  that  style 
of  conversation,  paused  in  astonishment. 

"  Quit  you  cussin',  Tobe,"  he  said,  "  an'  don't  you 
dast  say  lie  to  me." 

"  I  ain't  sayin'  lie  to  you.     I  says  Boggs  lied." 

"  I  ain't  standin'  up  fer  Boggs,  but  he  say  he  kin 
prove  every  word,  an'  soon's  he  git  the  chanct,  he's 
comin'  down  to  show  you  his  proof.  But  he  tole  me 
to  come  quick  —  to-day.  He  say,  '  Caliste,  this  ain't 
no  time  fer  foolin'.  That  man's  got  Tobe's  wool  pulled 
over  his  heyes,  an'  him  an  Bank'll  git  every  arpent  er 
land  what  he  own  away  fum  him,  you  mind.'  An'  so 


296  THE  GRINDING 

I  cum,  an'  all  the  thanks  I  gits  is  a  good  cussin'  out. 
But  they's  another  word  I  has  to  say,  an'  then  good- 
by— " 

"  Don't  be  mad,  Caliste,  cain't  you  see  I'm  wor- 
ried? " 

"  Yes,  I  sees  it,  an'  I  sees  something  you  doesn't 
see.  I  sees  you  has  had  three  years  er  crop  failure 
and  this  are  the  wust.  An'  ef  you  tries  to  hang  on 
to  them  mortgage  note  you  is  goin'  to  be  like  the 
nigger  what  got  caught  with  his  fist  in  the  corn  bin. 
Either  he  had  to  drap  some  er  the  corn,  or  he  couldn't 
pull  his  fist  outer  the  bin.  You  is  got  to  drap  some- 
thing, er  you  lose  all.  How  is  you  goin'  to  buy  feed 
fer  your  stock?  And  how  is  you  goin'  to  pay  your 
niggers?  An' — " 

"  Ef  I  hold  on  to  them  note,  I'll  be  the  richest  man 
in  this  parish." 

"  Yes,  an'  the  biggest  fool  ef  they  takes  off  the 
tariff  and  you  is  ruined.  You  take  my  hadvice,  Tobe. 
You  sell  them  note  an'  raise  money  to  run  Gole  Mine. 
'Tain't  wuth  your  while  to  ruin  yourself  jes'  to  spite 
Mr.  Maine." 

"  When  he  was  president  of  the  St.  Francis  Club  — " 
Tobias  began,  but  Caliste  interrupted  him. 

"  You've  tole  me  all  about  that,  Tobias,  but  what 
you  want  to  do  right  now  is  to  raise  money.  After 
that,  you  kin  get  into  all  the  clubs  this  side  er  purga- 
tory, fer  all  of  me,  but  right  now,  you  wants  to  shuck 
your  corn  an'  get  it  in  the  bin.  Besides  — " 

"  Besides  what?  "  Tobias  asked  suspiciously. 


THE  GRINDING  297 

"  You  know  what  Marks  tole  me  when  he  was 
drunk?  " 

"  What?  " 

"  He  tole  me  Mr.  Maine  were  out  of  the  city  when 
your  name  come  up,  and  it  was  him,  Marks,  what  kep' 
you  out  of  the  club.  I  promise'  him  I'd  never  tell 
an'  we  laughed  an'  was  powerful  frien'ly  over  it." 

Tobias  listened  to  this  in  silence,  while  his  purple 
face  and  distorted  features  showed  his  inward  agita- 
tion. 

"  Don't  hexcite  yourself,  Tobe,"  Dr.  Bonvillain 
warned  him.  "  You'll  hurt  your  spleen  ef  you  stirs 
yourself  up  that  way.  Cool  off  an'  take  it  easy. 
Mark'll  bite  his  nails  good  an'  plenty  ef  he  find  out 
you  ain't  in  debt  no  more.  An'  you  can  trust  Boggs. 
He's  Cajan  like  me  and  you,  and  he  ain't  goin'  to 
kiss  your  hand  an'  then  turn  round  an'  spit  on  your 
back.  He  says  to  me,  'You  tell  Tobe  to  get  rid  of 
Marks,  quick.' ' 

"  His  name  ain't  Marks  —  it's  Sutton." 

"  I  don't  keer  ef  it's  Pichonque  —  what  I  says  is, 
watch  out." 

As  the  two  men  sat,  side  by  side,  Bonvillain,  in  his 
nondescript  clothing  of  a  uniform  dust  color,  his  bushy 
beard  and  untrimmed  hair  of  the  same  general  hue, 
wore  such  an  air  of  slovenly  poverty  that  Tobias  Blaise, 
the  prospective  millionaire,  felt  a  sudden  impulse  of 
scorn  toward  his  former  playmate.  After  all,  what  had 
Bonvillain  accomplished  in  life  to  warrant  his  coming 
and  advising  him,  the  owner  of  Gold  Mine,  in  this 


298  THE  GRINDING 

peremptory  manner?  And  yet,  knowing  the  fiery  tem- 
per of  his  old  friend,  he  dared  not  dismiss  him  too 
curtly. 

"  I'll  ask  Destie,"  he  observed,  turning  his  horse's 
head  toward  the  field  where,  in  the  distance,  they  saw 
the  men  and  women  cutting  cane.  "  She  has  a  long 
reckonin'  with  Miss  Maine,  and  I  reckon,  ef  I  let  the 
Maines  off  too  easy,  she'll  raise  a  big  holler." 

"  You  ain't  lettin'  them  off.  But  it  ain't  wuth  your 
while  to  ruin  yehself  just  to  get  even  with  Miss  Catrine. 
I  reckon  she  ain't  broke  to  harness  very  good,  but 
she'll  get  her  pace  without  no  help  fum  you.  I  know 
it's  hard  to  disappint  Destie.  I'm  a  father  myself, 
an'  I  know  it's  hard.  I  peetee  you  —  but  it  pain  me 
more  to  see  you  such  a  big  fool  you  trusts  — " 

"  Big  fool  yourself!  "  Tobias  broke  out.  "  What 
do  you  want  to  be  takin'  up  fer  the  Maines  fer?  " 

Dr.  Bonvillain  listened  in  open-mouthed  astonish- 
ment. "  Who's  takin'  up  fer  the  Maines?  "  he  de- 
manded. 

"  You!  "  Tobias  retorted,  "  and  I  want  you  to  know 
right  now,  I  don't  trust  nobody  meddlin'  in  my  af- 
fairs." 

"  All  right,"  Bonvillain  answered  hotly,  "  but  don't 
you  holler  fer  me  to  come  an'  haul  you  out  when  you 
is  stuck  in  the  mud,"  and  he  galloped  away  in  deep 
wrath. 


XXXI 

TGNORANT  as  always  about  matters  of  business, 
-••  Catherine  was  unconcious  of  the  widespread  feel- 
ing of  disappointment  in  regard  to  the  yield  of  the  cane, 
which  was  so  tall  that  the  roads  leading  through  the 
fields  were  like  tunnels  in  which  a  man  on  horseback 
was  hidden  from  sight.  Every  one  had  prophesied  a 
"  bumper  crop  "  and  she  did  not  realize  that  the  great 
growth  of  the  cane  and  its  continued  greenness  made 
it  the  more  unfit  for  grinding.  Surely  their  debts 
would  be  paid  this  year,  she  thought,  and  then  they 
could  leave  this  place  of  exile  and  live  once  more  in 
the  world.  It  would  be  such  a  simple  thing  to  cut 
adrift  from  all  the  perplexing  entanglements  out  here  — 

Some  one  knocked,  and  turning  from  the  window 
where  she  had  been  dreaming  of  the  roseate  future, 
she  beheld  Pidgeon  standing  in  the  doorway  holding 
out  a  letter  toward  her. 

"  Dishyere  are  all  what  come  to-day,"  he  informed 
her,  "  scusin'  what  I  lef  over  yonder  to  the  office." 

The  envelope  was  postmarked  Newport,  and  was 
from  Tom.  Smilingly,  she  opened  and  began  reading 
it.  The  first  page  was  filled  with  accounts  of  Lady 
Fullerton  and  her  beautiful  daughter.  Catherine's 
smile  of  amusement  deepened.  "  Trying  to  make  me 

299 


300  THE  GRINDING 

jealous,"  she  thought.  It  was  such  a  familiar  trick  of 
Tom's  —  it  seemed  almost  childishly  transparent.  He 
ought  to  have  known  it  could  not  deceive  her.  Turn- 
ing the  page,  she  read  on: 

"  You  know  I've  never  seen  a  grinding.  Won't  you 
let  me  come  down  before  it's  finished?  Besides,  I 
have  a  special  reason.  I  give  you  my  word  of  honor 
I  never  meant  really  to  harm  any  of  you.  I  meant  to 
frighten  you  a  little  and  punish  you  a  bit  for  flirting 
so  outrageously  with  that  Cajan  boy,  right  before  my 
face.  I'll  explain  the  business  details  to  Fergus.  No 
use  bothering  you  with  them.  And  don't  let  him  per- 
suade you  that  the  bottom  has  dropped  out  of  every- 
thing. It  hasn't,  and  I  can  make  everything  right 
when  I  come." 

There  were  several  more  pages,  filled  with  protesta- 
tions of  devotion,  but  with  a  veiled  warning  that  she 
had  trifled  long  enough,  and  ending  with  a  request  for 
a  speedy  reply  as  his  plans  of  the  next  few  weeks 
depended  on  her  answer. 

Still  smiling  with  a  mixture  of  amusement  and  pleas- 
ure, she  went  to  the  front  gallery  to  watch  for  Fergus's 
return  from  the  office.  To  her  surprise,  she  found 
him  seated,  in  an  attitude  of  utter  exhaustion,  asleep. 
As  she  stood  gazing  at  him  with  an  undefined  feeling 
of  apprehension,  scanning  the  gentle,  refined  face,  now 
seamed  with  lines  of  care,  he  woke  with  a  start  and 
looked  up  at  her. 

"  Tired?  "  she  asked. 

"  A  little,"  he  replied. 


THE  GRINDING  301 

Dismissing  her  fleeting  anxiety,  and  seating  herself 
on  the  arm  of  his  chair,  she  said,  "  Guess  from  whom 
this  is." 

He  turned  the  letter  so  as  to  see  the  superscription. 
"  From  Tom  Ogers,"  he  replied  in  a  lifeless  tone. 

"  Yes,  from  Tom,"  she  replied  with  a  gay  little 
laugh,  and  not  noticing  his  apparent  lack  of  interest. 
"  Funny,  isn't  it?  He  wants  to  come  and  visit  us 
again  —  so  as  to  see  the  grinding."  Watching  him 
smilingly  as  he  turned  the  pages  slowly  and  finally 
handed  it  back  without  comment,  she  slipped  her  arm 
around  his  neck,  asserting  rather  than  asking,  "  We're 
sure  to  pay  our  debts  this  season,  aren't  we?  " 

"  No,"  he  answered  in  a  constrained  voice,  "  I  never 
expected  to  take  up  those  notes  in  one  year.  I  was 
assured  there  would  be  no  difficulty  in  getting  a  re- 
newal." 

"  Is  there  any  difficulty?  "  she  asked. 

"  Yes." 

"  There  won't  be  when  Tom  comes,"  she  assured 
him.  "  I'll  arrange  it." 

"  How  do  you  propose  to  '  arrange  '  it?  "  he  asked. 

His  tone  startled  her.  Ronald,  who  no  longer  loved 
her,  could  be  severe  toward  her,  she  reflected  bitterly, 
but  Fergus  was  different;  he  was  never  harsh.  There 
was  some  reason  for  his  change  of  manner.  For  the 
moment  she  felt  abashed,  but  after  a  pause  she  said, 
"  I  can  do  it;  and  on  some  accounts  I  shall  be  glad  to 
see  him." 

Fergus   seemed   scarcely   to   hear   her.    His   eyes 


302  THE  GRINDING 

looked  beyond  her  with  a  strange  absorption.  The 
breathless  heat  pressed  upon  her  and  the  metallic 
sound  of  hammering  that  reached  her  from  the  sugar 
house,,  mingling  with  the  prolonged  ringing  of  a  locust 
near-by,  seemed  to  intensify  the  sultry  silence. 

"  There  were  things  I  liked  about  him,"  she  ob- 
served, after  waiting  for  some  comment  from  Fergus. 
"  He  had  good  manners,  and  it  was  a  pleasure  to  have 
some  one  to  talk  to  —  some  one  like  the  people  I  used 
to  know.  But  he  stayed  too  long,  and  I  got  tired." 
She  paused,  waiting  for  some  word,  but  he  maintained 
his  austere  silence.  "I'll  be  more  patient  this  time," 
she  finally  added.  "  I  know  I  can  persuade  him." 

Fergus  now  looked  searchingly  at  her,  but  still  ut- 
tered no  word. 

"  I  know  I've  been  hateful  and  perverse  and  all 
that,"  she  suddenly  burst  out;  "  I  don't  need  any  one 
to  tell  me  so." 

"  Has  any  one  told  you  so?  "  he  asked. 

"  Not  in  words,"  she  replied,  "  but  Ronald  goes 
around  with  such  an  accusing  air — " 

"  I  never  observed  it." 

"  I  suppose  it  would  be  nearer  the  truth  to  say  he 
ignores  my  existence,"  she  corrected  herself,  trying  to 
say  it  lightly,  and  without  betraying  her  vexation,  in 
the  hope  of  drawing  some  word  of  justification  from 
Fergus;  but  he  remained  silent. 

Rising  from  the  arm  of  his  chair,  she  walked  to  the 
end  of  the  gallery  and  looked  toward  the  flaming  west. 
From  behind  masses  of  purple  clouds,  like  lights  shin- 


THE  GRINDING  303 

ing  through  half-closed  blinds,  there  streamed  rays  of 
burning  orange  and  crimson.  The  China  tree  which 
shaded  that  end  of  the  gallery  with  its  thick,  plumy 
foliage,  so  dark  it  was  almost  black  in  the  shade,  now 
glowed  in  the  vivid  light  with  iridescent,  bronze  tints. 

"  Any  how,"  she  resumed  with  a  forced  laugh, 
"  Tom  doesn't  ignore  me.  He  wants  to  come  back  — 
'  to  make  everything  right.'  I  don't  know  what  he 
means  by  that." 

"  I  do." 

She  was  leaning  on  the  railing,  fanning  herself  with 
the  letter,  but  at  Fergus's  words  she  turned  and  looked 
at  him.  In  the  vivid  light,  his  face  was  of  a  waxen 
pallor,  strange  and  ghastly.  "  What  do  you  mean, 
Fergus?  "  she  asked.  Then,  frightened  by  his  look 
and  manner,  she  went  swiftly  to  him  and  laying  her 
hand  on  his  shoulder,  cried,  "  What  is  it,  Fergus? 
What  has  Tom  done?  " 

"  He  has  ruined  us." 

"  Ruined  us!  "  she  repeated,  her  face  blanching. 
"  How  has  he  ruined  us?  " 

"  I  have  learned  —  within  the  hour  — "  he  answered 
breathlessly  as  if  strength  failed  him,  "  he  has  sold  the 
mortgage  notes  to  Tobias  Blaise.  They  say  Blaise 
hates  me — " 

"Tobias  Blaise!  "  she  repeated  with  bloodless  lips, 
"Tobias  Blaise!  In  the  power  of  that  dangerous 
man!  Oh,  Fergus!  "  (It  was  a  piercing  cry.)  "I 
have  ruined  you." 

He  made  no  reply. 


304  THE  GRINDING 

Tremblingly  she  twisted  her  fingers  together  whis- 
pering, "  Oh,  why  wouldn't  I  make  friends  with  those 
people  while  I  had  the  chance?  Oh,  what  have  I  done ! 
What  have  I  done!  Fergus,  what  will  he  do  to  us?  " 

"  He  will  foreclose  and  turn  us  out." 

She  wrung  her  hands.  "  I  could  have  saved  you," 
she  cried.  "  I  could,  and  I  wouldn't." 

He  put  his  hand  to  his  head.  "  There  ought  to  be 
some  way,"  he  muttered. 

"  There  is  a  way,"  she  cried  passionately,  and  broke 
into  wild  weeping. 


XXXII 

IT  was  nearly  morning  when  Catherine,  who  had  fal- 
len into  a  doze  after  lying  for  hours  gazing  with 
sleepless  eyes  into  the  darkness,  awoke  with  a  start, 
hearing  a  human  voice  ringing  in  her  ears.  The  cry 
was  repeated  and  as  she  roused  more  fully  she  could 
feel  the  house  trembling  in  the  clutch  of  the  wind. 
Above  the  roar  of  the  lashing  trees,  which  was  like 
the  roar  of  the  sea,  she  heard  a  prolonged,  deep  growl, 
unutterably  awful;  the  voice  of  the  tempest  itself. 
Then  there  mingled  with  it  a  keen  whistle  as  if  the 
black  huntsman,  riding  on  the  blast,  were  whistling  to 
his  hounds.  All  the  forces  of  the  night  and  of  the 
storm  were  let  loose.  And  again,  the  piercing  shriek 
of  the  wind,  as  it  found  some  crevice  or  keyhole. 

"  Fergus !  "  she  cried,  running  to  his  door,  "  Fer- 
gus! don't  you  hear  some  one  calling?  " 

"  No,"  he  answered,  "  it's  the  wind." 

She  tried  to  light  her  candle,  but  a  gust  from  the 
open  window  blew  out  the  flame  and  dressing  hurriedly 
in  the  darkness  she  groped  her  way  into  the  hall  where 
she  found  him  waiting  with  a  lighted  lantern.  He  stood 
in  a  listening  attitude. 

"Hark!  "  she  said,  as  a  wild,  wailing  cry  seemed 
to  echo  through  the  house,  "  some  one  is  calling." 

305 


306  THE  GRINDING 

"  No,"  he  repeated,  "  it's  the  wind." 

The  lantern  flickered  and  went  out  in  the  draft  that 
came  soughing  down  the  stairway,  and  some  papers 
left  on  the  table  the  evening  before,  flew,  rustling,  about 
the  hall  with  a  ghostly  suggestion  of  wings. 

Gropingly,  she  felt  for  Fergus  and  clung  to  him. 
As  she  stood  so,  waiting,  listening,  she  dared  not  think 
for  what,  she  felt  the  pressure  of  the  gale  against  the 
door  and  the  long,  flanking  windows. 

She  listened,  expectantly,  her  eyes  searching  the 
darkness  of  the  stairway,  and  finally  asked,  "  Where  is 
Ronald?  " 

"  He  went  down  to  Octave  Robichaux's.  He  should 
have  been  back  last  evening." 

She  pressed  her  hand  against  her  breast.  What  if 
she  never  saw  him  again!  If  she  never  had  the  chance 
to  take  back  the  many  unkind  things  she  had  said! 
Now,  too  late,  she  saw  clearly  her  own  selfishness  and 
perversity,  and  suffered  the  poignant  anguish  of  re- 
morse. How  kind  —  how  truly  kind  —  he  had  been! 
How  wise  in  trying  to  save  her  from  her  own  follies! 
And  kind  toward  that  poor  boy  —  All  in  vain!  Every- 
thing had  happened  as  he  foresaw.  "Oh,  Ronald! 
Ronald!  "  throbbed  and  beat  in  her  brain.  "If  only 
you  come  back!  " 

Her  mind,  like  a  broken  mirror  that  catches  here 
and  there  a  disconnected  reflection,  glanced  over  her 
past  life.  She  saw  herself  a  child  in  her  luxurious 
home,  with  servants  to  do  her  bidding,  with  every  whim 
indulged  —  yet  never  satisfied.  Then  as  a  queen, 


THE  GRINDING  307 

scorning  the  honors  heaped  upon  her.  Always  dissat- 
isfied! Nothing  had  ever  been  sufficient  for  her.  She 
had  broken  her  toys  and  thrown  them  away;  she  had 
broken  hearts  and  tossed  them  aside. 

Feeling  his  way,  Fergus  drew  her  to  the  settle,  as  one 
might  a  child,  and  so  they  sat  without  speaking  while 
the  wind  rose  in  a  long  crescendo  as  if  the  spirits  of 
all  the  broken  hearted,  all  who  had  died  without  hope, 
were  uttering  their  lament. 

A  vivid  crimson  flashed  through  her  closed  eyelids, 
and  the  house  rocked  in  the  reverberation  of  the 
thunder.  In  the  hollow  silence  that  followed  she  heard 
the  ticking  of  the  clock  on  the  mantlepiece. 

At  last  the  darkness  grew  faintly  luminous.  Outside 
the  windows  fantastic  shadows  tossed  themselves 
about.  The  leaden  dawn  turned  to  a  paler  gray  and 
through  the  blinding  rain  the  daylight  struggled.  The 
shadows  became  branches  of  trees  whirling  in  a 
witches'  dance. 

"  Another  day,"  she  said. 

Fergus  rose  and  went  to  the  window.  She  knew 
for  whom  he  was  watching,  and  followed  him.  Three 
weird  figures,  their  bodies  braced  against  the  storm, 
their  heads  covered  with  rice  sacks,  came  toward  the 
house,  plodding  heavily  through  the  rain-soaked  earth. 
They  were  Marcelline,  Ananias  and  Pidgeon. 

"They  are  fairly  risking  their  lives!  "  Fergus  ex- 
claimed and  opening  the  door  went  out  on  to  the  gal- 
lery to  speak  to  them.  Catherine  followed,  close  be- 
hind, and  the  door  closed  with  a  jarring  crash.  But 


308  THE  GRINDING 

the  three,  deafened  by  the  wind  and  blinded  by  the 
rain  and  the  muffling  rice  sacks,  had  already  gone 
around  the  corner  of  the  house  without  hearing  or 
seeing  those  on  the  gallery. 

Cowering  back  into  the  window  niche,  Catherine 
clung  to  Fergus  who  tried  to  shield  her  from  the  rain 
which  was  blinding,  stinging  like  whips,  beating  upon 
her  as  with  stones.  For  a  moment  it  shut  her  in  like 
a  wall,  then  it  lifted  again  and  she  had  a  glimpse  of 
the  fields,  on  which  the  cane  lay  flat  —  the  beautiful 
cane  that  had  been  so  tall  and  plumy  only  the  day 
before.  The  fences  were  down  and  frightened  cattle 
were  running  for  shelter.  She  looked  at  the  great 
China  tree  —  it  was  lying  on  the  ground,  its  lovely 
foliage  torn  and  beaten  into  the  mud.  Across  up- 
rooted trees  whose  broken  branches  were  scattered 
over  the  garden,  she  saw  the  place  where  the  church 
had  stood.  The  priest's  house  still  crouched  in  safety, 
and  to  the  left,  beyond  the  bridge,  she  dimly  discerned 
Miss  Victorine's  behind  its  sheltering  orange  trees. 
The  bayou  rolled  along,  brimming  and  flecked  with 
foam.  A  log  swept  by  upon  its  waves,  then  an  over- 
turned boat,  then  a  roof  with  something  clinging  to  it; 
something  that  moved  feebly.  She  covered  her  face 
with  her  hands. 

From  far  away,  there  came  a  faint,  metallic  sound. 
Fergus  raised  his  head  and  listened.  Again,  far  off, 
faint,  but  unmistakable.  Both  knew  what  it  meant, 
the  smoke  stacks  were  falling.  The  smoke  stacks, 
bought  and  put  up  at  so  much  sacrifice!  But  what 


THE  GRINDING  309 

did  it  matter?  What  did  loss,  or  ruin,  matter  any 
more?  Oh,  if  only  Ronald  would  come! 

Later,  when  she  was  lying,  exhausted,  on  her  bed, 
she  heard  Fergus  in  the  hall,  talking  with  Ananias, 
who  was  trying  to  build  a  fire. 

She  listened  as  in  a  dream,  so  weak  from  the  long 
mental  strain  that  she  seemed  to  herself  to  be  no 
longer  in  this  world,  but  in  the  borderland  of  that 
strange,  mysterious  continent  of  which  we  know  noth- 
ing, but  toward  which  we  grope  half  reluctant,  half 
eager.  "  Am  I  still  living,"  she  questioned,  "  or  is  this 
death?  " 

The  hours  passed.  Another  night,  and  the  howling 
of  the  storm.  How  could  the  frail  shelters  man  had 
made  withstand  the  fury  of  the  tempest! 

Toward  morning,  there  came  a  knocking  at  the  door: 
an  awful  sound  at  that  hour  and  in  such  darkness. 
The  servants,  unable  to  get  back  to  their  cabins  across 
the  broken  bridge,  huddled  in  a  frightened  group, 
while  Fergus,  lantern  in  hand,  unlocked  the  door  and 
Catherine,  with  blanched  face,  came  silently  into  the 
hall. 

The  door  opened,  and  Ronald  entered. 

With  a  stifled  gasp  she  went  toward  him. 

"You  are  alive!  "  Fergus  exclaimed. 

"  Yes,  I  am  alive."  Ronald's  face  showed  his  agi- 
tation as  he  looked  from  one  to  the  other.  Then  going 
to  the  fire  and  seating  himself  wearily,  he  spread  out 
his  benumbed  hands  to  the  blaze. 

"  How  did  you  get  here?  "  Fergus  asked,  steadying 


310  THE  GRINDING 

his  voice  with  an  effort.  Catherine,  behind  Ronald's 
chair,  wept  silently. 

"  Robichaux  brought  me  part  way,"  Ronald  an- 
swered, "  but  something  happened  to  the  boat  at  Beau 
Rivage,  fivariste  Ledoux's  place.  I  think  it  began 
to  leak,  but,  to  tell  the  truth,  I  was  so  anxious  about 
you  and  Catherine  I  scarcely  noticed  what  the  trouble 
was.  Come  nearer  to  the  fire,  Cathie,"  and,  turning, 
he  looked  at  her  wan  face.  "  You've  been  terribly 
frightened,"  he  said. 

"  Not  for  myself,"  she  answered  faintly. 

"  Robichaux's  house  was  not  washed  away?  "  Fer- 
gus asked. 

"  No,  the  floating  prairie  saved  it  —  but  it  hindered 
him  in  getting  his  boat  out.  It  is  a  miracle  about  that 
floating  prairie,"  he  added.  "  You  remember  it,  don't 
you?  Miles  and  miles  of  vegetation  floating  on  the 
top  of  the  water.  It  seems  as  if  the  whole  prairie 
rose  and  swept  toward  us  —  and  that  is  what  saved 
us  from  drowning." 

Catherine  shuddered  but  said  not  a  word. 

"  The  vegetation  completely  surrounded  the  house 
so  that  the  waves  no  longer  broke  over."  Plainly,  he 
was  talking  to  recover  his  composure,  and  the  sound  of 
his  voice  betrayed  his  exhaustion. 

"  But  how  did  you  come  the  rest  of  the  way?  " 
Fergus  asked. 

"  I  got  a  mule  at  Beau  Rivage.  The  road  is  so 
flooded  I  had  to  take  a  roundabout  way  back  of  the 
Settlement," 


THE  GRINDING  311 

"  The  Settlement  is  standing?  " 

"  Yes,  the  floating  prairie  saved  that  too." 

"  So  the  Lirettes  are  safe?  " 

"  Yes.  Jacques  is  not  there.  He  had  a  chance  to 
go  away  some  days  ago.  He  must  be  on  the  ocean 
now."  He  did  not  glance  at  Catherine  as  he  spoke. 

She  listened  in  silent  self-condemnation,  not  needing 
to  be  told  why  the  poor  boy  had  gone. 

"  So  the  road  is  not  washed  out?  "  Fergus  asked, 
making  no  comment  on  what  Ronald  had  said  about 
Jacques. 

"  Oh,  yes,  there  is  no  road  left.  But  any  way,  the 
mule  gave  out  at  Bonvillain's  and  I  had  to  leave  it 
there." 

"  Then  how  did  you  get  here?  " 

"  I  walked." 

"You  walked!"  It  seemed  incredible,  "How 
could—" 

"  I  want  to  tell  you  something,"  Ronald  interposed 
as  if  he  shrank  from  speaking  of  the  terrible  effort 
he  had  made.  "  I  think  your  troubles  are  ended." 

"  Your  troubles."  Catherine  noticed  the  wording. 
So  he  was  going  to  carry  out  his  threat  of  leaving 
them?  After  all  they  had  endured  of  agony,  of  mortal 
peril,  he  was  still  going  to  leave  them! 

"  How  can  our  troubles  be  ended?  "  Fergus  asked. 

"  Ledoux  told  me  an  amazing  thing.  He  has  bought 
the  mortgage  notes  on  Esperance." 

"  He  has  bought  them!  "  Fergus  and  Catherine  ex- 
claimed in  a  breath. 


312  THE  GRINDING 

"  Yes,  and  he  told  me  that,  if  for  no  other  reason, 
he  wished  to  buy  them  for  the  sake  of  Felicie  Trosclair, 
whom  he  has  legally  adopted.  He  said  he  hoped  to 
prove  his  gratitude  for  your  kindness  to  her,  Cath- 
erine." 

"  My  kindness !  "  she  repeated.  "  Have  I  ever  been 
'  kind  '  to  any  one?  "  She  covered  her  eyes  with  her 
hand  and  the  tears  trickled  between  her  fingers. 

"  It  seems  Pere  Ignace  told  him  of  some  plan  of 
yours  for  her  protection,  and  Ledoux  was  deeply  grate- 
ful to  you.  He's  a  rich  man,  and  a  kind  one."  Then, 
rising,  he  said,  "  Will  you  come  up  with  me,  Fergus, 
while  I  get  on  something  dry?  I  must  catch  that 
morning  train.  You  must  have  the  riggers  here  to 
put  up  those  smoke  stacks  as  soon  as  possible." 

"  Oh,  Ronald,"  Catherine  faltered,  "  you  can't  go  to 
the  city  to-day.  You'd  be  risking  your  life  again." 

"  I  promised  Ledoux  I  would  go,"  he  answered 
quietly  as  he  began  mounting  the  stairs. 

A  half  hour  later,  as  Catherine  was  returning  to  the 
hall  with  Marcelline  who  was  carrying  a  tray,  she  heard 
Ronald  coming  down. 

"  So  I  shall  answer  the  letter  in  person,"  he  was  say- 
ing. 

"  I  shall  miss  you,"  Fergus  declared. 

"  And  I  shall  miss  you  —  every  day,  Fergus.  You 
have  been  the  strongest  influence  for  good  in  my  life." 

Wide-eyed,  Catherine  gazed  at  him  as  if  trying  to 
impress  upon  her  memory  a  last  glimpse;  as  we  watch 
the  fading  form  of  some  one  upon  a  ship  that  is  sailing 


THE  GRINDING  313 

away  from  us  forever.  Yes,  he  was  leaving  them  — 
now,  when  they  had  just  been  restored  to  each  other. 

"  How  kind  of  you,  Catherine,"  he  said,  seating  him- 
self upon  the  settle  before  which  they  had  arranged 
his  breakfast.  "  Will  you  pour  my  coffee? "  It 
seemed  as  if  he  were  trying  to  fill  the  time  with  com- 
monplace matters,  as  when  we  bid  good-by  to  a  friend, 
and,  all  our  messages  uttered,  are  conscious  of  a  blank 
in  the  overlapping  minutes. 

Marcelline  brought  a  plate  of  .corn  bread  and  placed 
it  upon  the  tray  and  Fergus,  -drawing  a  chair  to  the 
fireplace,  sat  down.  Catherine's  hands  shook  so  as 
she  tried  to  put  the  sugar  into  the  cup  that  she 
sprinkled  it  all  around. 

Gently,  Ronald  took  the  spoon  from  her  hand. 
"  You're  tired  out,"  he  said.  She  should  always  re- 
member the  tone,  it  seemed  to  her;  that  deep,  gentle, 
comforting  tone. 

"  She  hasn't  eaten  for  two  days,"  said  Fergus. 

"  You  must  take  care  of  yourself,  Cathie."  How 
kindly  he  spoke;  and  after  all  he  had  had  to  forgive. 

Her  eyelids  smarted,  but  she  restrained  her  tears. 
"  You  won't  try  to  walk  to  Bergerac,  will  you?  "  she 
asked,  refusing  the  plate  he  offered  her. 

"  No,"  he  answered,  "  I  think  the  storm  is  abating 
so  I  can  go  in  the  boat.  And  now,"  he  said,  rising, 
"  I  must  say  good-by  to  the  servants." 

She  watched  him  as  he  left  the  hall.  Ananias  came 
down  the  stairs  carrying  a  trunk.  She  stood  in  the 
dim  light,  waiting  for  Ronald's  return.  She  would  tell 


314  THE  GRINDING 

him  as  soon  as  he  came  back.  But  with  him  came 
Fergus,  and  behind  them  Pidgeon  and  Marcelline. 

"  Good-by,  Catherine." 

"  Good-by,  Ronald." 

He  was  gone.     She  had  lost  her  opportunity. 

With  a  sudden  cry,  she  tore  open  the  door.  She 
must  tell  him.  She  must  speak.  The  sun  was  rising, 
and  she  saw  the  two  figures  nearing  the  gate. 

"  Ronald!  Ronald!  "  she  called,  but  her  voice  was 
drowned  in  the  wind.  No!  No!  He  must  not  go 
without  hearing  her.  "  Ronald!  "  she  repeated,  run- 
ning, struggling  after  him. 

And  now  he  heard.  Wonderingly,  he  turned  and 
came  back  to  her. 

"Ronald!"  It  was  a  lamentable,  heart-broken 
tone.  "  You  know  —  don't  you  —  that  I'm  sorry?  I 
never,  never  meant  it.  Oh,  I've  been  a  fool!  A  fool! 
You  will  come  back,  won't  you?  " 

He  looked  down  at  her  white,  tear-wet  face.  Was 
this  a  passing  mood?  A  whim  of  the  moment? 

"  Oh,  Ronald,"  she  repeated,  "  don't  you  see  I  am 
asking  you  to  come  back?  Don't  you  know  that  I 
love  you?  " 

Without  a  word,  he  took  her  in  his  arms. 

"  I  reckon  the  storm  are  past,"  Ananias  said  to  Fer- 
gus who  was  standing  on  the  bank,  waiting.  "  Look 
yonder!  A  spot  er  blue  sky."  He  gave  his  charac- 
teristic chuckle.  "  'Twon't  be  long  now  befo'  the  sun 
pull  the  cane  up  a-standin'  agin." 

Pidgeon's  voice?  carried  by  the  wind,  reached  them 


THE  GRINDING  315 

fitfully  from  the  side  yard  where  he  was  chopping 
kindling  for  Marcelline.  In  a  high,  piercing  treble,  he 
sang: 

"  The  grindin'  season  has  came  to  a  end, 
An'  yo'  back  are  broke  ef  it  wouldn't  bend, 
'Case  you  has  to  wuk  every  day  God  send, 
An'  it  ain't  no  use  complainin'. 

"  We  has  had  weather  of  every  kind, 
For  the  clouds  has  rained  an'  the  sun  has  shined, 
But  the  sugar  are  sweet  when  the  cane  you  grind, 
An'  it  ain't  no  use  complainin'." 


A     000  041  872     3 


